Reunion
by Deanne Stevenson
Summary: A Derek Morgan Story/Derek returns to Chicago for his 20th high school reunion, and encounters his high school sweetheart. Addresses issues of racism and sexual abuse. Involves characters from Profiler, Profiled, and Penelope Garcia. THIS IS NOT FLUFF!
1. Chapter 1

Reunion

Chapter 1

It was just past midnight when Morgan's flight landed at O'Hare. Coming home to Chicago was always a bittersweet experience for him. While he loved seeing his family, and the handful of friends that he'd kept in touch with, there were painful memories associated with his hometown. Eighteen years after his father's murder, he still couldn't pass the site where Sam Morgan died without getting a knot in his gut, or drive by the Upward Youth Center and not think of how he'd been exploited by Carl Buford. But, the good memories outweighed the bad, and he was happy to be back for a visit.

He retrieved his luggage and stopped at the desk to pick up the keys to his rental car. He hadn't eaten since early afternoon and he was ravenous. It crossed his mind to get a sandwich at the airport, or to drive through the all-night McDonald's, but realized that his mother would no doubt have prepared something for him. Of course, he told her not to wait up, just as he always did, but she would ignore him. Fran Morgan would be napping on the sofa with the television on, waiting for the sound of Derek's key turning in the lock. "Mothers," he thought, affectionately.

He loaded a large and a small bag into the trunk of the black Chevy Impala, and carefully placed his briefcase and laptop on the seat beside him. There was a chill in the night air, promising that fall was not far away. He zipped the light jacket he was wearing, noting that he should have worn something heavier. It was still warm in Quantico, and he hadn't thought about making the adjustment for the colder climate. He was glad that it didn't take long for the car warm up and provide him with heat.

It was a twenty minute drive from the airport back to his old neighborhood. There was an ambitious restoration program in the area, and even in the dark he could see that some of the old landmarks had been razed. New, brighter street lights had been installed on some streets. He counted four police cars, just since he'd exited the Expressway. In spite of the efforts to improve the area, gang violence still made the streets unsafe. There had even been suggestions that the National Guard should patrol in some sections of the city. Nearly two hundred murders had occurred in Chicago last year, almost all of them gang related.

As he passed the South End Bar, he noticed several young black men hanging out near the entrance. Down the street, another group, mostly Hispanic, was loitering by an all night convenience store, and Morgan wondered if there was trouble brewing. They're always so young, he thought, sadly. Most gang members didn't live to see thirty. He knew that if he'd stayed on the path he took after his father's death, he'd likely be dead himself.

Morgan turned onto Lafayette Avenue and parked in front of the brick row home where he'd grown up. The trim on the old house was in need of paint, but it was otherwise well-kept and tidy. There was a pot of fall mums on either side of the front door and a weathered mat that said "welcome." Although he had tried many times to persuade his mother to move, she stubbornly refused. "Your father and I bought this house when we were newlyweds," she'd remind him. "This is where I raised you and your sisters. I don't want to live anywhere else." Derek would only sigh, and give up the argument, but he did persuade her to let him install security doors and windows, and an alarm system. It helped him to sleep better at night.

As he ascended the porch steps, he could see the flickering light from the television through the blinds. Just as he predicted, as soon as she heard him unlocking the heavy, steel door, his mother was awake.

"Hi, Baby," she said, hurrying to hug him before he'd even put down his bags.

"Hey, Ma," He hugged her back, and scolded her gently. "Didn't I tell you not to wait up for me?"

"Who's the parent here, Derek?" She reminded him, jokingly. "Besides, I haven't seen you since Christmas," and she hugged him again. He could smell the aroma of something delicious in the kitchen before she even told him. "I have some roast beef simmering in the crock pot. I'll fix you a sandwich."

His mother sat at the table with him while he ate, giving him updates on his sisters and friends, all the while keeping his coffee cup filled. "Ma," he put his hand up. "I'm never going to fall asleep after drinking this much coffee."

She looked flustered, standing there with the coffee pot in her hand, ready to refill his cup. "Oh, I'm sorry, Baby. I wasn't thinking." Fran was so invested in nurturing her youngest child that she didn't think of how late it was. Twenty years ago, she would have offered him chocolate milk, but felt silly suggesting a kid's drink to her thirty-something son. Derek's father used to enjoy beer with roast beef, but she no longer kept alcohol in the house, not since it became clear that Desiree's boyfriend had a drinking problem. "I have some fruit juice, or iced tea." She offered.

"Mom, sit down. I'm fine. If I need anything, I'll get it." Derek finished his sandwich, and sat back in his chair and stretched. Yawning, he noticed by the kitchen clock that it was nearly two. "When are the girls coming over?" He inquired, anxious to see his sisters.

"I told them not to come before noon since your flight was getting in late."

Morgan was amused at his mother's concern with him getting enough sleep. It was so typical of her. She always worried about others, and often shortchanged herself in the process. It was Fran who looked tired, and he wondered about her health.

His mother was a petite woman, with porcelain skin and long auburn hair. It was hard to believe that she was past sixty. Still pretty, she looked much younger than her years. A genuine goodness radiated from her, and Morgan could understand why his father had so easily fallen in love with her. His dad had often told Derek how fortunate he was to have met her.

They were an unlikely couple. Sam Morgan was a tall, powerfully built black man. He had a broad smile, and easy going persona, but could turn cold and deadly serious when his role as Chicago police detective called for it. Francis Ellen McDermott was a quiet Irish girl, six years his junior. They met when Sam was a rookie cop, responding to her call about a prowler. They were attracted to each other from the moment they met.

Derek yawned again and got up. He took his plate to the sink. "Ma, go on up to bed. I'll put everything away."

"That's alright," she started, but Derek interrupted.

"Mom," he warned, gently. "Go on. Besides, I need a few minutes to unwind." He hoped the remark hadn't hurt his mother's feelings, but he needed some time to himself. "Wake me when the girls get here."

"Okay, Honey," she said, reluctantly. "'Night."

Derek put the leftovers in the fridge, and took a long swig from a bottle of chocolate milk he found on the top shelf. He washed his dishes, and then sat down to text Garcia. "Got in at 12. All is okay. Will call tomorrow."

Alone in the kitchen, he could almost hear the voices of his family at suppertime. His father used to tell stories about his day, usually with a humorous bent, although they all knew his job was dangerous. Sam Morgan had a deep, resonant voice, and an easy laugh, and Derek loved listening to his anecdotes. In contrast, his mother's voice was soft and almost musical when she spoke. She would often be singing to herself when she was working in the kitchen. His sisters, Sarah and Desiree, were chatty as kids, almost as much as he was reserved.

Derek missed his dad more as he'd grown older. Big Sam was his hero, and for as long as he could remember, he aspired to be like him. He wished he could get to know his father as an adult, and he often wondered if his dad would be proud of the way he'd turned out.

As he started up to his room, Derek heard sirens in the distance. Whatever was going on, he was glad he didn't have to be involved. For the next week, he wasn't going to concern himself with anything more than family and his high school reunion on Friday night.

He crept up the steps with his bags, careful not to disturb his mother. Her light was out and he could hear the soft rhythm of her breathing as he passed her door. He went into his old room and switched on the lamp. It hadn't changed much since he was a kid. The posters were gone from the walls and his sports trophies had been put away, but there was still a Chicago Bears blanket on his bed and his old boom box sat on the dresser, which made him smile.

Being home was an emotional sanctuary for Morgan, and in spite of the coffee he'd had, he quickly fell asleep. He didn't stir until he heard a loud banging at the front door, and the frantic sound of his mother's voice.


	2. Chapter 2

Reunion

Chapter 2

Dressed in his pajama bottoms, Derek dashed downstairs to see what the commotion was about. A distraught Desiree Morgan stood in the open doorway, crying. Her clothes were disheveled, and the sleeve of her blouse was torn. One side of her face was puffy, and there was bruising around her eye. She had a cut on her bottom lip. Fran was with her, trying to calm her down. A chilly breeze was blowing into the house. Derek led his sister inside, and bolted the door behind her. She was trembling badly. "Desi, what happened? Des?" Turning to his mother, "Ma, get her a blanket."

Fran took the throw from the arm of the sofa, and handed it to her son, glad to have him to take charge. "Desiree," he spoke, firmly. When he wrapped the blanket around her, he saw the bruises on her throat. It was only from years of practice that he kept his composure through the outrage he was feeling. "Des, what happened? Who did this to you?" He asked, although he'd investigated enough domestic violence cases to already be pretty sure of the answer. She didn't reply, and he led her to a chair to sit down. "Desiree, talk to me." She'd stopped sobbing but was breathing hard, as if she'd been running. She didn't respond to him and only stared straight ahead, trying to catch her breath. "Desi?" When she still didn't reply, and he became concerned that she may be in shock. "Mom, I'm going to take her to the ER."

"No," she told him, at last. "I'm okay." Her voice was shaky as she said, "It was my fault. I shouldn't have gotten in his face when I knew he'd been drinking." She shook her head, sadly. "It was my fault, Derek."

When Morgan's suspicions were confirmed, as Desiree's brother, he immediately wanted to confront the bastard and beat the hell out of him. He took a long breath, struggling to keep his anger controlled. "Are we talking about Curtis?" He asked, sharply, annoyed that she was making excuses for him. He'd met Curtis when he was home during the holidays, and Derek disliked him from the onset. The dude was way too slick for his tastes. His instincts told him the man couldn't be trusted.

Fran came in from the kitchen with a small bag of ice for her daughter. Desiree held it to the swollen side of her face. "Yes, Curtis. He went out to the club with some buddies. I was jealous and I got all up on him about it when he came home. I accused him of cheating on me and I was giving him grief about spending the money. I know I shouldn't do that when he's been drinking, Derek. I know how he gets. I shouldn't have pushed him."

Derek needed to take another deep breath. God DAMN, he wanted to thrash that mother fucker. "So, you're living with him now?" Derek looked up at his mother, aggravated that he didn't know.

"Since April. We were talking about getting married, but then he got suspended from his job."

"He's a prison guard. Right?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "He's been trying to get his job back. Derek, he's been under a lot of stress lately. I shouldn't have…"

"Des, Des," he interrupted, shaking his head. She didn't have to tell him anymore. He'd heard it all before. "Mom, can you give her a coat to wear? I'm taking her to the hospital to get checked out."

"No, Derek, please, no." There was panic in her voice. "It's not that bad, honest. I just need to stay here for awhile until he sobers up, and then I'll go home. I'll be fine."

"Desi, you've had blows to your head. You could have a concussion. Give me a minute to get dressed, and we're leaving. No argument." He warned.

As Derek went up to change, Desiree looked pleadingly at her mother. She hoped that Fran would agree that she didn't need the hospital, but Fran took her son's side. "Honey," you're all banged up. You need to have a doctor take a look at you." Fran was so relieved that Derek was here to help her this time.

A few minutes later, Derek returned, dressed and ready to leave. "Do you want me to go with you?" Fran asked, while she helped her daughter into a jacket.

"No. Go back to bed and get some rest, Mom. I'll take care of this." Morgan didn't think that his sister's injuries looked that serious, but he wanted them documented. Also, he wanted to talk with her one on one.

xxxxx

Morgan finished the plate of scrambled eggs and home fries his mother had made him, and took his dish to the sink. He refilled his coffee and hers, and sat down. "Ma, why didn't you tell me last night about Desi's problems?"

Fran sighed and admitted. "You're going to be here all week. I didn't want to ruin your first night home."

He just sighed and shook his head. At the hospital, Desiree admitted to him that it had happened before. He couldn't understand why his beautiful, strong-willed sister, had allowed herself to become a victim. It was out of character. He had tried to persuade her to file charges against Curtis, but she became extremely agitated when he suggested it, and pleaded with him. "Derek…no, please…I can't…please, promise me, Derek…promise you won't do anything." It was obvious to Morgan that she was very afraid of the man. He knew that even if he got her to file a complaint against Curtis, she wouldn't follow through, and he dropped the subject. When Desiree was taken upstairs for x-rays, Derek called Penelope Garcia.

Sleepily, Penelope reached one arm from under the covers to answer the phone. "Whoever this is, you'd better be calling to tell me the building is on fire," she grumbled, opening one eye to see it was just getting light outside.

"It's Morgan, Baby. I'm sorry to bother you so early. I wasn't thinking."

"What's wrong? Aren't you in Chicago?" She asked, seriously, when she heard his voice. She knew he wouldn't call her so early on a Saturday unless there was a problem.

"I need a favor, but it can wait until you get up. I want you to find out everything you can on a man named Curtis Turner, Afro-American guy, about forty. He was a prison guard in Cook County, recently got suspended."

"I'll get it right to you."

"No, it can wait a little while. I'll call you later."

She could hear the activity in the crowed emergency room, and asked. "What's all the noise in the background? What, are you at a party, or something?"

"I wish. No, Baby, I'm at Cook County Hospital. It was a busy night here."

"Are you okay?" Suddenly, she was very awake and genuinely alarmed.

"Fine. I brought my sister in." He spotted them wheeling Desiree back to examination cubicle. "She had a little accident. Look, Babe, I gotta go. Don't call me. I don't want my family to know I'm checking up on this guy. I'll call you back later on." He closed his phone and went back to be with his sister.

Morgan yawned and took a drink of coffee, wondering what Garcia would dig up on Turner. He'd had two and a half hours of really good sleep before the trouble started. What he wouldn't give for about four or five more! When he looked at his mother, he felt really selfish for his thoughts. She looked worn out. He knew she didn't sleep while he and Des were at the hospital, and yet, as soon as they came home, she was offering to cook breakfast for him.

"Mom," he suggested, gently. Why don't you go up and take a nap? What time did you say Sarah was coming?"

"Around noon."

"Good, you can get a couple of hours of sleep before she gets here."

Fran was so tired, she didn't try to resist. She got up from the table. "If Desiree needs anything…"

"If Des needs anything, I'm here. But Ma, with the pain meds they gave her, I don't think she'll wake up anytime soon."

Fran gave her son a peck on the cheek as she passed him. Thank God, her boy was home. After Sarah comes, she thought, we'll sit down and talk. We'll tell Derek everything.

xxxxx

It was eleven-thirty when Derek called Garcia back. "Got anything, Baby?"

"Curtis Turner…born May 6, 1970 in Atlanta, Georgia…parents deceased…no siblings…never married…no children…served 14 years in the Marines…honorably discharged in 2003…ranked E6 at the time of his discharge…did two tours in Iraq…was awarded a purple heart, a bronze star, and two medals for bravery…went to work for the Georgia prison system after his discharge…died in an automobile accident on I-85 outside of Atlanta in July, 2007".

"He's dead?" Morgan said, incredulously. As he absorbed the implications, he said to Penelope, "do you have any pictures of him?"

"Bingo," she replied. With a click of keys on her laptop, a photo appeared on Morgan's cell phone screen. The person in the picture looked nothing like the man he'd met at Christmas.

"Look Baby, I may have to put you to work again in a little while. Something's very wrong."

"Anything, my Ebony Prince. I am at your beck and call. Hey, I'll be here all day cleaning my apartment. Just let me know what you need."

In spite of his concerns, Garcia always made him smile. "You know what I need, Baby Girl, but it will have to wait until I get back to Virginia. I'll call you later."

Derek sat for a long moment, staring at the phone in his hand. If Curtis Turner is dead, who the hell is the son-of-a-bitch with his sister?


	3. Chapter 3

Reunion

Chapter 3

It took Morgan a few minutes to digest what he'd heard. Indeed, the real Curtis Turner was the perfect identity to steal, no family, exemplary guy. Hum…

He started a fresh pot of coffee and called Penelope back. She was just getting her vacuum out of the closet.

"I was hoping for an excuse not to clean my carpets. What do you need, Cupcake?"

"Pen, can you get into the Illinois Prison System?"

"I'm sure I could. Do you want me to shoot someone," she teased, "or just rob a convenience store?"

He smiled in spite of himself. "Stop being a smart ass, Garcia. You know what I mean. Can you get into their computer system?" He asked, emphasizing the word 'computer.'

"Of course, Mon Cher, you have no idea what I can do with my magic fingers."

He ignored her flirtation and told her seriously. "Okay, a prison guard at the Cook County Jail has been using the identity of our late friend, Curtis Turner. Fake Curtis got his ass suspended from the job a few months ago. I need you to find whatever you can about him, work record, why he was fired, et cetera. Also, they would have to have a photo of him on file. If they do, can you use your facial recognition software wizard thing to get a correct identity on him?"

"Maybe," she told him. "If it's a digital photo and he would have to be in the system. It might take awhile to get a match."

"Start by trying to match our imposter to mug shots from the Georgia prison where the real Curtis worked. I have a hunch there's a connection."

"Derek, what's going on? You're supposed to be on vacation, not investigating a case."

"My sister has been hooked up with this phony for nearly a year. He got drunk last night and beat her up."

"Oh, God! Is she all right?" She asked, concerned, and then she became concerned about Morgan. "Derek, don't do anything rash. You don't want…" She started to warn him but he cut her off.

"I'm not going to do anything 'rash.'" He was annoyed that she suggested it. "That's why I want the low down on him. Des won't go to the police. I need to find something else I can get him on. I'm sure he's going to have a rap sheet."

"Should I call you back with this?"

"Yeah, it's all right to call. Thanks, Baby."

As soon as he closed his phone, he heard Sarah at the door. Always the perfectionist, Derek thought, fondly. It was exactly twelve o'clock. "Hey, Gorgeous," he said, grinning, when he unbolted the door. "Glad you're here."

"Oooh, I'm so happy to see you, little brother." Sarah said, embracing her younger sibling. After a moment, she looked around. "Hey, where's Mom and Des?" She had seen her sister's car parked outside.

"They're both sleeping," he told her, quietly. "I just made a pot of coffee. C'mon into the kitchen so we can talk." Derek knew from his years of living in the old house that if you were talking in the living room, the voices carried upstairs to the bedrooms, but from the kitchen, you could not be heard.

Sarah Morgan was always the outspoken member of the family. Her honesty occasionally bruised feelings, but you could count on her for the truth. She had logic and common sense, and he admired that about her. He was anxious to talk with her about Desiree.

As they sat at the table, Derek filled her in on what had happened overnight, and Sarah told him the sorry tale of Desi's stormy relationship with Curtis. "So why the hell didn't Mom tell me she what was going on with Des and this alcoholic loser? I talk to Ma every Sunday afternoon, and she hasn't told me about any of this." His frustration was clear in his tone of voice. "Shit, I knew the guy was no damned good when I first met him."

Sarah sighed, and explained. "Mom worries about you, Derek. She figures you have a dangerous job and that you need to be focused on your work. She doesn't want you distracted because you're worrying about our problems."

"That's bullshit!" Suddenly, he was angry that'd been kept in the dark.

She reached across the table and rubbed his arm. "Derek, don't be mad. That's Mom. She worries about everybody. She doesn't admit it to you but she's terrified that you're going to end up like Daddy."

He was still annoyed, but he didn't say anything else. "So what's wrong with Des? She's never been a victim. I can't believe that OUR sister would put up with crap from some scumbag."

"Des hasn't been the same since Ashley died last year. You know how close they were. They were best friends from kindergarten. It was like Des blamed herself for Ash getting killed. She was supposed to go out with her that night. In Desi's mind, if she had gone with her, the accident might not have happened. Truth is they both would have ended up dead. It was a horrible night. The roads were icy. Des had the good sense to not to go out. It wasn't her fault Ashley was too dang hard-headed to stay home. Anyhow, Des hasn't been 'right' since she lost her. Ash didn't have any family, so Des had to go downtown and identify her body. I swear, Derek, I think something snapped in her that morning. She started drinking more. I don't mean she's an alcoholic, but her behavior changed. Des never used to drink anything more than a glass of wine. After Ash died, she started partying, going to clubs. That's where she met Curtis. He was a weekend bouncer in some club." Sarah shook her head. "I can't believe it either, her taking up with a no account fool like him."

"You don't know the half of it," Derek mumbled. He hadn't confided in her yet that Curtis wasn't Curtis.

"Mommy and I have both tried to talk her into getting away from him, but she says she 'loves' him. It makes me want to gag. I swear, Derek, it's like she thinks she deserves to be treated like trash."

"Survivor guilt," the profiler in him commented. "On a subconscious level, she does think she deserves to be treated badly." He rubbed his brow, thinking. "We need to get her away from him, and we need to get her into treatment for PTSD. As for Curtis," he said the name venomously, "he needs to get what's coming to him."

"Actually, I'm surprised you didn't go over to her apartment and kill the son-of-a-bitch."

He sneered. "It was a thought. Shit, I've been day dreaming about it." Morgan knew that when he was younger, he might have given in to the impulse to demolish the bastard, but he was older now. He couldn't indulge in reckless behavior. It would cost him his career, and he conveyed that to his sister. "Sarah, I'm not looking to end up in prison on aggravated assault and battery charges for putting Curtis in the hospital. Besides, that would make him a victim and Des would side with him."

"No way!"

"Sure she would. Hell, I tried to persuade her to talk to the police last night, but she wasn't hearing it. She's scared of him, but she's not ready to turn on him, either. Apparently, she's struggling with unresolved guilt issues. She's grieving over Ashley's death," the profiler continued. "Until she gets help, she's going to keep thinking she deserves to be abused." He got up from the table, went to the fridge, and took a swig of chocolate milk. "Coffee?" He offered.

"Please," she replied, absorbing what Derek had told her.

"Sis, I'm pretty sure Curtis will have a record. Hopefully, there will be a legal way to get him out of the picture."

"Hopefully," she said, thoughtfully, as Derek set a cup of coffee on the table in front of her. "Do we have any milk?"

He checked the refrigerator. "Uh, no. Just some chocolate milk. Want some? It's good in coffee."

Sarah made a disgusted face at her brother. "Yuk, no! You just drank out of the bottle." They had been having the same argument since they were kids.

Derek smiled, sheepishly. "I'll walk down to Watson's and pick up some milk."

xxxxx

Watson's Deli had been a fixture on the corner of 57th and Lafayette for as long as Derek could remember. Growing up, he used to play with the Watson's two kids, Carlton and Ramon. The couple, now nearly seventy, faithfully opened their tidy store Monday through Saturday at 7 a.m. At six, a steel security gate was locked down over the front door, and the couple retired to their residence in the back of the establishment before the worst of the criminal element took over the streets.

It had crossed his mind that Desi's boyfriend might show up looking for her, but it was only a half a block to the store, and he wouldn't be gone more than a few minutes. He hadn't counted on Mrs. Watson making such a fuss over seeing him again, or spending almost fifteen minutes bringing him up to date on her sons.

"Derek, the boys come by for supper every Sunday. You should stop by tomorrow. They'd love seeing you. Are you going to the reunion on Friday night? Ramon and his wife are going."

"Yes, Ma'am, that's why I took my vacation this week. I'm going."

Derek and Ramon had graduated from the same high school class, and used to play on the football team together. Derek was the team's quarterback, and Ramon was his best wide receiver. They had been good friends, and Derek was looking forward to seeing him. Carlton was a year and a half younger, and two years behind them in school. He was bookish and not much interested in sports. He never seemed very interested in girls, either, and Derek always wondered if he was gay. Of course, it wasn't spoken about. Being gay in this neighborhood was an invitation to getting your ass kicked.

"Hard to believe it has been twenty years since you boys graduated. Why heck," she laughed, "it seems like just yesterday we were watching you two out on the football field."

"Yes, Ma'am." He didn't want to be impolite, but he finally had to cut her off to make his exit. "It was nice seeing you. I'm sure I'll see you again before I leave."

"Give my best to Fran," Mrs. Watson called to him as he was going out the door."

"Thanks, I'll do that." He said, not stopping to get involved in any further conversation. He'd been gone too long already.

As soon as he rounded the corner, he saw the strange car in front of his house and realized that he'd stayed away too long.


	4. Chapter 4

Reunion

Chapter 4

It only took seconds for Morgan to sprint the half a block to his mother's house. From the steps, he could hear the voices inside. Never one to mince words, Sarah was telling Curtis, in no uncertain terms, to leave.

"I don't want trouble," a man's voice said. "I jus' came to take Des home."

He could hear his mother's voice. It was much softer and he couldn't make out what she was saying, but he knew she wouldn't be confrontational. Okay, he thought. It doesn't sound like the situation is out of control. Derek walked into the house, casually. "Curtis," he nodded and walked into the kitchen to put away the milk.

All conversation stopped when Derek came in. They watched him, expecting him to react. He came back out to the living room. "Is there a problem here?" He asked, calmly.

"I came to get Desi, and bitch here," Curtis gestured toward Sarah, "got all up in my face about it."

Sarah started to go off again but Morgan put his hand up to signal to her to keep quiet. He took one of his calming deep breaths to keep from losing his cool. He assessed that Curtis wasn't drunk, but his pupils were dilated and his eyes looked glassy. Hungover? Or, he was possibly "on" something.

"Curtis, you're going to have to leave. My sister is asleep. She's on pain medication. She's all banged up from the beating you gave her last night."

"I didn't touch her." He started to get an attitude. "Clumsy bitch fuckin' fell. She's lyin' on me if she told y'all different."

"How did she get the bruises on her throat, Curtis?" Morgan asked, but the man only glared at him and didn't answer. He repeated, "I would advise you to leave." Standing with his arms folded and his feet planted, Derek Morgan was an intimidating figure. His stance emphasized his muscular physique, and it implied a threat, just as he intended. With the women there, he would prefer things didn't get volatile. He hoped he could coerce Curtis into leaving peacefully, and God damn it, Garcia had better had be getting the low down on this asshole so he could put him away. Derek opened the front door and held it for Curtis.

Suddenly belligerent, Curtis turned toward the staircase. "I ain't leavin' without Des," he said, and started for the steps. Fran Morgan, protective of her child, blocked his path. Curtis grabbed her by the arm and shoved her out of the way, knocking her down in the process. Instinctively, she put out her hand to break her fall, and moaned with pain when her wrist twisted under the weight of her body.

"Mommy," Sarah screeched, and went to her mother's side.

Curtis was on the third step when Morgan grabbed him from behind and yanked him backwards. He stumbled to the floor but recovered quickly. Head down, he charged at Morgan's mid-section. Derek met him with his knee, kicking him hard in the chest. It knocked the wind out of him and Curtis fell backward again. Before he could recover this time, Derek hauled him to his feet by the collar, held him, and planted a left hook in his jaw. With the most gratifying punch Derek had ever thrown, Curtis went down for a third time. Fists clenched, Derek stood over him, daring him to move, and secretly wishing that he would.

"Sarah," he ordered his sister. "Go into the drawer of my nightstand and get my cuffs."

She was reluctant to leave her mother, who was sitting on the floor, holding her injured wrist. "Go on, Baby. I'm okay," Fran told her.

Sarah went to Derek's room and opened the drawer by his bed. Inside were his handcuffs and two guns, the one she'd occasionally seen him wear and an ankle holster. Out of respect for their mother, she knew he never wore his gun in her home, and seeing items startled her for a moment when she realized how violent Derek's world must be.

xxxxx

The tantalizing aroma of chicken roasting in the oven drifted out to the steps where Derek and Sarah were sitting. Even with her badly sprained wrist, Fran Morgan insisted on making dinner for her family. Sarah helped her cut the vegetables before Fran shooed her out of the kitchen. Through the partially open window, Derek and Sarah could hear her humming as she worked. Not even today's ugly events could abate her happiness at having her family together. In the quiet moments, Fran could feel Sam with them, too.

Sarah had driven her mother to the hospital to have her wrist x-rayed. Fortunately, it was sprained and not broken. It was braced and wrapped, and she was still able to go about most of her work.

Desiree was napping again. As she described it, she ached like she had a bad case of flu from the beating she'd received, and she was happy to escape into sleep. She would get up to have some dinner with them, she'd promised. When the sound of Derek and Curtis fighting awakened her, Des went to the top of the stairs just in time to see her brother cuffing her man. At that moment, she so angry with Derek. If she and Curtis fought sometimes, it was their business. Derek shouldn't get involved. She changed her mind when she saw that Curtis had injured her mother.

After the police came and took Curtis away, Derek walked Desi back to bed, and he sat with her for a long time. While Fran and Sarah were at the hospital, Derek and she talked. While they were talking, Penelope called him with the results of her research on fake Curtis. In reality, Curtis was Marcus James Thornton. He had eleven outstanding warrants in Georgia and was in violation of his parole. He had stolen the identity of Curtis Turner, a prison guard he became acquainted with when he was in jail. "He's a bad guy, Des. He's got a long record."

Derek and Des talked about Ashley, too. "Sis, you've always been a proud, strong, black woman." He reminded her. "You're not a victim. You never took shit from any man. You're hurting, Baby. Sounds like you've been hurting since you lost your girl. You need to talk with somebody, get your head straight." She cried when they discussed Ashley, but even slightly groggy from the percocet she was taking, she knew that he was right. When she got too sleepy to talk anymore, she hugged him. He got a lump in his throat when Desiree told him. "Sometimes, Derek, you remind me so much of Daddy."

"Do you think she'll follow through with counseling?" Sarah asked him, when Derek told her about his talk with their sister.

"I'll make sure I get her set up with a grief counselor or someone, before I leave. If necessary, I can pull some strings to get her someone right away. I'll leave it to you to pep talk her and make sure she keeps going." He grinned. "I know how persuasive you can be."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sarah sounded annoyed. She wasn't sure that was a compliment.

Derek laughed when he told her. "I remember when you used to babysit us while Mom was at work. Derek, do your homework. Derek, hang up your jacket. Derek, put your books away. Derek, don't drink out of the milk bottle. Sis, you could nag the paint off the wall."

Sarah slapped him, playfully. "You still drink out of the milk bottle."

Derek and Sarah were nostalgic as they watched the kids playing on the street. Even in an area where children were taught from an early age to hit the ground if they heard a loud noise, there were good memories. Some boys were shooting hoops into the same basket that Derek had climbed up a pole and nailed there many years ago. A pair of pretty Hispanic girls were riding their bikes up and down the street. As soon as the sun would start to set, they would take their bicycles into the house so they wouldn't be stolen. A skinny kid, about ten, was skateboarding home with a bag from Watson's.

They reminisced about people they had grown up with. Some were dead or in jail. A few, like the Morgan children, became successful and were able to move away. Many were still in the area, still struggling for something better. Derek would be seeing a lot of the old faces at the reunion.

"What made you decide to go to this one, Derek? You were never interested before. You never went to your college reunions, either." Sarah asked, about the upcoming event.

"Twenty years seems like a milestone worth celebrating." He shrugged. "Besides, Jake Hendricks emailed me a copy of the confirmed attendees. This is the first year she's going."

"Are you still carrying that torch?" She knew exactly who he was talking about, although he hadn't mentioned her in years. "Have you even seen her in all this time? Or, even talked to her?"

"Nope, not since that last night." He replied, seeing in his mind's eye how beautiful she looked the last time he saw her.

"Supper's ready." Fran called through the open window.

"Oh, Derek," Sarah sighed, disdainfully, as they got up to go inside. She didn't say it, but she was concerned that he was setting himself up to get hurt.

xxxxx

Penelope Garcia poured a glass of white wine and lit the candles around her garden tub. She slipped off her robe and was about to indulge in her favorite Saturday night ritual. Just as she was going to immerse herself in bubbles, the phone rang. When she saw Morgan's name on the caller ID, she hoped that he didn't need any more research done, but for Derek, she would do it if he asked. "Hello, Handsome! What's up?"

"Hi, Babe. I just wanted to thank you for the work you did for me today. I appreciate you helping me on your day off."

"I'll let you thank me properly when you get back to Virginia. I have some nifty things in mind that will let you," she paused, and said seductively, "express your gratitude."

"Anything for my girl." He told her, smiling.

"Did you get what you needed?"

"Yeah. Curtis slash Marcus should be on his way back to Georgia. Anyhow, he is out of my sister's life."

"How's Desiree doing?"

"She's zonked out on pain killers most of the time. He bruised her up pretty bad. Mom's asleep. Her wrist was aching. She took a couple of aspirin and went to bed early. None of us got much sleep last night with all the drama going on. I'm going to take a shower and go to bed in a few minutes, too. I just wanted to connect with you first."

Penelope thought of a deliciously naughty retort to his reference to "connecting" with her, but didn't say it. He was being too sincere. "Well, Cupcake, your vacation didn't get off to a very good start, but it has got to get better from here. Got any plans for tomorrow?"

"Mom wants us to go to church with her in the morning, but nothing else yet."

Everything in her wanted to ask about his plans to see "her," but she wasn't going to pry. He would talk about her when he was ready. "I'll let you go then. I just ran a hot bath."

"Okay, thanks again, Penelope. 'Night."

"Good night, Handsome." She was about to hang up but then…"Derek?"

"Yeah?"

And then, she thought better of it. "Never mind. Good night."

"Good night, Baby Girl."


	5. Chapter 5

Reunion

Chapter 5

Derek found it hard to concentrate on the sermon, as he sat in church with his mother and sisters. He had been struggling with his feelings about God and religion for many years. Left to his own, he would still be in bed, sound asleep. But, he loved his mother more than he was angry with God, so he put on a dress shirt and slacks and made it to nine o'clock Mass. Sarah arrived early to help Desiree get dressed for church. She was very sore and moved slowly, but she wanted to go with her family. A pair of dark glasses and some makeup camouflaged the worst of the bruising on her face, and a high neckline hid the finger marks on her neck. Sarah helped her mother button and zip, and did her hair for her. The Morgan's left just as the church bells started to chime, beckoning the faithful to worship.

Many memories were associated with the stately, old cathedral. The Morgan's attended as a family for years, until the children were grown and moved out. Sam Morgan's funeral was held in this church when Derek was ten years old. It was the first time he ever wore a suit and tie, one that his grandmother took him to Sears to buy for the occasion. He could recall sitting in the front pew with his mother, sisters, and grandparents, listening to the priest talk about his father's bravery and integrity. The church was filled with uniformed officers who had traveled from all over the state to honor Sam. Young Derek sat with his jaw tightly clenched, desperately trying not to cry in front of everyone. It was the first day he knew he was angry with God.

During the time he was being molested, he would often come into church to pray for help. He was ashamed to tell anyone what Carl Buford was doing to him. He was afraid of what Carl might do if he told. He worried that without Carl's mentoring, he would lose his opportunity for an athletic scholarship, and so, he kept silent. He only dared to come to God for help, but when the abuse continued, the rift between God and Derek grew wider.

Subtly, Derek glanced around at the people in church. When he was a kid, the parish was predominately made up of white, Irish-Americans, with a smattering of Blacks and Hispanics. As the makeup of neighborhood changed, so did the congregation, and the Morgan's were less of an anomaly than they had once been. Her family used to attend Mass here, too. Was she in town yet? Maybe she was here? He wasn't sure he would even recognize her after all of this time. Growing up, he used to see her on some Sundays, impeccably dressed, the prettiest of three sisters, walking with their parents. He was always delighted when they sat ahead of him and he could watch her during the service.

After Mass, the Morgan's walked back to the large cemetery behind the church and placed flowers on Sam's grave. Derek wondered, as he often did when he thought of his father, how their lives might have been different if he had lived. Standing at the grave, he didn't say a prayer. Shit, God never listens anyway. He only bowed his head and whispered "I love you, Dad," and went to bring the car for the women.

xxxxx

As much as he enjoyed his family, toward evening Derek was itching to get away for awhile. Des was sleeping again. Fran and Sarah were doing the dinner dishes. After he helped clear the table, he announced, "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back in a couple of hours." He was amused when they became concerned that he was going to be out in the neighborhood after dark. "If you only knew," he thought, realizing that they had no idea of the dangers he often faced on the job.

He was dressed down, not to call attention to himself. His gun was concealed by the jacket he was wearing. He walked up the street past Watson's. The store was locked up and dark, but there were lights on in the back. Several cars were in the driveway. He remembered that Mrs. Watson said the boys came on Sundays for dinner. He would enjoy seeing Ramon at the reunion. The guy always fancied himself a player, and Derek was curious as to what kind of a girl he finally married.

Four blocks down, the lights were on at the Upward Youth Center. The Christian Youth Group met on Sunday nights, and had been surprisingly more successful than they were expecting. There were the sounds of a basketball game coming from the gym, too. After Buford's arrest, Morgan and his old nemesis, Stanley Gordinski, worked together to organize a citizen's committee to run the center. He and Stan weren't exactly friends, but they had developed a working relationship. Together, they managed to acquire some state funding for the center and had even secured a number of private contributors. Without Buford, the center flourished and expanded, a fact that made Morgan and Gordinski proud. Working with the kids was something Derek found rewarding, and he would be helping out for few hours every day this week.

He rounded the corner and stopped at the cemetery where Damien Walters and Buford's two other victims were buried. Mrs. Walters visited frequently, and tended to the graves of all three boys, keeping them weeded and planting flowers. Buford would never identify the other two boys, and their headstones remained unmarked with all but the dates of their deaths. Derek stood by the graves for a long time. Although he had issues with God, he believed in an afterlife, often feeling the presence of his father with him. He hoped that the boys had found the happiness on the other side that eluded them in life. The words "forgive me," replayed in his mind as the guilt he'd never completely resolved welled in him. If he'd had the courage to tell someone about Buford's abuse, the boys might be alive, and it was a shame that haunted him every day of his life.

Derek bent down to pull a weed growing near Damien's headstone, brushed off his hands, and walked on down the street, past his old grade school. The school yard was enclosed with a high chain link fence now and there were security cameras on the corners of the building, but otherwise, the old schoolhouse didn't look much different from the days when he attended.

By the time he headed up Pershing Avenue toward his former high school, it was completely dark. He was about to cross the street when a police car pulled up behind him, lights flashing and high beams glaring. Derek stopped in his tracks and waited as the car moved up beside him. The officer in the passenger seat aimed a flashlight at his face, blinding him. "Where are you going?" A harsh voice asked.

Derek was annoyed that he was being stopped, but he took a deep breath. Okay, they're just doing their job, he reminded himself, and he answered. "Just taking a walk, officer."

The policeman got out of the car, still shining the light on Morgan. "Let me see some ID."

Carefully, Morgan reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and held his FBI identification open for the officer.

"What the…?" He was taken aback when he aimed the light on Morgan's ID. "Where the fuck did you steal this?" The officer suggested, contemptuously.

Again, Morgan breathed in deeply and answered with politeness. The officer was trying to hassle him but he wasn't going to take the bait. "I work for the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit out of Quantico, Virginia. I am here in Chicago visiting my family."

"So, what the hell are you doing on the streets? You looking for drugs?"

"I told you. I'm just taking a walk."

"Right," he replied, skeptically. "Are you carrying a weapon?"

"Yes." Very deliberately, he unzipped his jacket and opened it, partially revealing his sidearm. Morgan wondered about the man's attitude. He was a white officer. Was it a racial thing, or was the guy just an asshole? Morgan wasn't sure.

The cop was about to say something else, when the other policeman got out of the car and approached them, shining his flashlight in Derek's face. "It's okay, Frank. I know this guy."

Morgan unwittingly rolled his eyes when he recognized the voice. "Detective Dennison," he said, greeting the other officer.

xxxxx

Penelope giggled as she listened to Morgan tell his story. "Derek, you've been home less than forty-eight hours and you've already been involved with the police twice. This doesn't sound like a good pattern to me, Stud Muffin."

"Garcia, why do you always refer to me as some kind of food? Muffin…cupcake…"

She giggled again. "Because I think of you as something tasty and sweet, and I would love to eat you."

"Whoa," he laughed. "I'm not even going there." Derek was stretched out on his bed, freshly showered and getting ready to call it a night. He called Penelope to unload about his little run-in with Detective Dennison and the other cop.

"Pen, I've had to deal with him a few times since he and Gordinski arrested me. Stan Gordinski turned out to be an okay guy, but Dennison. He helps out at the center. I'll give him points for that, but otherwise, the guy is a jerk. From different things he's said, I get the idea he resents me. I think that's why I caught so much attitude from the other cop, too."

"Resent you? Why would they resent you?"

"Dennison's ambitious, but he's been on the force for fifteen years and still hasn't made Sergeant. Then you take me. Same age as these guys…kid from the streets…gets on the force just like they do. But in less than ten years, I end up with what they see as a prestigious job with the FBI. Can't be because I deserved it. Hell, he must have gotten a pass because of his race, they figure, like I'm some kind of 'affirmative action' FBI Agent. They don't like it. It's not exactly racism, but it is. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know," she agreed, sadly.

Derek paused for a moment, not sure whether he should ask her or not. Finally, "Penelope, does it ever bother you that we're…uh, different?"

"Au contraire, mon ami, it is our differences that make it…" she sighed for emphasis, "interesting. You wouldn't be nearly so much fun if you were another girl."

"I am not talking about our anatomical differences, Naughty Girl. You know what I mean."

Garcia became serious. "Yes, I know what you mean." She hated that he even had to ask. It was something that they had never talked about before and she was curious as to why he brought it up tonight. Did his encounter with the police bother him so much? "No, your race doesn't matter to me at all. The only thing that matters is that you're a good person with a kind heart." And to lighten the moment she added. "Oh, and you're smoking hot."

Morgan smiled at the remark. "Back at you, Baby. Good-night."

"Good-night."


	6. Chapter 6

Reunion

Chapter 6

Morgan's week fell into an easy rhythm. He was up by eight each morning, went for a jog, and then devoted the first half of his day to doing some painting and maintenance on his mother's house.

"Derek, are you sure this isn't too expensive?" Fran asked him, when he took her to Home Depot to make selections for his projects.

"Ma, just get whatever you like. Don't worry about the price."

She picked colors for the outside paint, and chose new floor tiles for the bathroom to replace the faded linoleum that had been on the floor since Derek was a kid. Holding a sample of a tile, she turned to him. "This one's white with just a slight marbling of color. I think it will make the bathroom look bigger. Don't you? And the blue streaks will match the towels."

"It will look beautiful, Mom."

Even in a less than desirable neighborhood, Fran took pride in her home. After Sam died, she struggled to raise her children on a small survivor's pension and her part time job. She was accustomed to having to be frugal. Although shopping usually made Morgan antsy, he enjoyed seeing how happy his mother was buying new things for the house, and he was patient when she took a long time to make up her mind.

His first project was the exterior. He spent three mornings working outside, giving the bricks a light cleaning, and then painting the trim and doors with hunter green and white paints. After he put down the new welcome mat that Fran picked out, he called her to view the finished project.

"Oh, Derek!" She hugged him, excitedly. "It looks like a new house. I can't wait for the girls to see it."

At lunchtime that day, Derek had another discussion with Fran about moving to Virginia. "Mom, I have properties I've remodeled. You could have your choice. Or, you could pick out a small house. I'll buy it and redo it for you. Everything would be new and pretty. You can decorate it anyway you'd like. Maybe you could get something with a nice yard or a deck. You could plant a little garden…"

His mother cut him off. As usual, she wouldn't hear of it. "Honey, my life is here. I just can't."

And, as usual, Derek could only sigh, and give up. As much as he wanted to see his mother in a better neighborhood, he knew that she enjoyed her work at the day care center. Although she no longer needed the job to support herself, she loved working with the children. She was active in her church and the community restoration project. In a neighborhood dominated by residents with dusky complexions, Fran Morgan, the fair, petite, Irish woman, was an icon. "All right, Mom." He relented.

"More coffee?" Fran stood by the table with the pot in her hand. Her wrist was still braced and wrapped, but she didn't complain and went about her work as usual.

Derek glanced at his watch. He had a little time. "Sure."

When his mother sat down with her coffee, he decided to talk to her about something that had troubling him ever since he made the decision to come home for the reunion. He leaned back in his chair and asked. "Ma, tell me about you and Dad. What was it like when you started going together? Was it a problem dating out of your race?"

"A problem?" She repeated. Oh, she really didn't want to talk about this.

"Well, I know there was a lot of racial tension in the sixties. It couldn't have been easy for you, a white woman, being with a black man. It couldn't have been easy for Dad. Even in the seventies, when Sarah, Des and I started school, there were people who wouldn't accept us because we were biracial."

Fran reached across the table and touched his arm. "I'm so sorry, Derek. I never meant for it to be hard for you. You were shy when you were little and you…"

"No, Mom." He responded with a little more hardness in his voice than he'd intended. "I'm not talking about me. What was it like for you and Dad? Why were you willing to do it?"

Fran looked down and stirred her coffee, almost ashamed. She knew that her children had suffered, and she felt terribly guilty about it. Perhaps, she had been selfish to follow her heart?

The question was important to Derek and he pressed her for an answer. "Mom?"

At long last, she took a drink of coffee and responded. It was painful to talk about. "Yes, they were hard times." She said, quietly. "Some people were very cruel." She stirred her coffee again, carefully considering her words. What good could possibly come from telling her son about the stares, the vicious remarks, or the times when she and Sam were actually in danger?

"Derek, you didn't know your great-grandmother, Eva Browne. She died the year you were born."

"What about her?" He was annoyed that his mother seemed to be changing the subject.

"Grandmom was almost totally blind by the time she turned sixty. Most people didn't realize it. She lived in that old house on Hampton Street all of her life, and she knew every inch of it by touch. Your father and I used to visit her quite often." Fran smiled when she remembered. "Grandmom adored your father. He'd sit with her out on the front porch and tell her jokes. He could get her laughing so hard…"

"Mom?" He persisted.

Derek saw her bite her lip before she continued. "I almost said 'no' to your dad when he asked me to marry him. I knew it wouldn't be easy for us, and I was struggling with my feelings about it. One day, I walked over to Grandma Eva's to talk to her. I had a lot of respect for her opinion. She only had a fifth grade education but she was a pragmatist, and a very smart woman. Well, I told her I was having second thoughts about Sam and me, she said, 'Frannie, the good Lord sent you a gift and you're going to turn it down because it isn't tied with the right color ribbon.' She told me that at first she didn't even know that Sam was African-American…not until one of her neighbors asked her how she felt about her granddaughter dating a…um, that ugly word. Grandmom said that being blind was a great gift because it let her see things with her heart. She said she could see that Sam was a good man with a kind heart, and that was all that mattered." Fran smiled again when she told Derek. "When I saw your father that night, we set our wedding date."

It wasn't lost on Derek, the irony that his great-grandmother described Sam with almost the same words that Penelope used to describe him. Derek looked at his watch. "I'm due down at the center."

xxxxx

"Another round," Darnell Scott ordered, sitting at a table in the South End Bar with Derek, Jeffrey Lewis and Wally Dennison. Morgan was just putting the mats away after teaching a self-defense class, when Darnell asked him to have a beer with him and the other coaches.

Darnell was the coordinator of Upward's sports program, and an old friend of Morgan's. The men had gone through school together. Like Derek, Darnell was biracial and had experienced some of the same adversity as Derek had growing up. Derek had already agreed to go out before he realized that Wednesday was one of Detective Dennison's nights to coach.

The detective had been monopolizing the conversation for the last fifteen minutes with stories of his police exploits. Derek, who never suffered fools well, was starting to fantasize about shoving him through the nearest wall.

"So how did you get into the FBI?" Dennison said to Derek.

"Excuse me?" Derek answered. He had stopped listening to him five minutes ago.

"The FBI? How did you get in? Did you know somebody?"

"I applied." He said, icily.

"Did they hold your criminal record against you? I mean, I thought you had to have a clean slate to get into the Bureau."

Darnell and Jeff glanced at each other, and then at Morgan. Derek was angered by Dennison's deliberate attempt to embarrass him but he took a really long breath and answered calmly. "I don't have a criminal record. I had a juvenile record which was expunged when I was seventeen."

It was petty, and Derek knew it was petty when he said it, but he was pissed, and he couldn't resist an insulting retort. "Did you have a problem getting into the police academy with a GED?"

He could see Dennison bristle and he started to reply, when the men were suddenly distracted by a scuffle at the bar. After some loud cursing, a shove lead to a punch. Instinctively, Morgan and Dennison were on their feet, but a pair of burly bouncers controlled the situation. They broke up the fight and roughly escorted the disruptive men outside.

The off duty lawmen sat down again, and Darnell quickly changed the topic of conversation to the youth center's football season. A beer later, Dennison and Jeff Lewis went home to their wives, and Darnell apologized to Morgan. "Man, that dude can be such a fucking asshole. I'm sorry about him talking shit on you like that."

"So, what's his deal? Is he a racist, or what?"

"Nah, not really. He comes down here three nights a week, works with the kids. He's actually pretty good with them, and they're mostly Black or Hispanic. No, that's not his issue." Darnell smirked when he said, "he just hates you. Well, maybe 'hates you' is a little strong, but he's jealous as hell. The guy's got a mouthy bitch of a wife who drags him around by his nuts. He's been trying to make police sergeant for the past six or seven years, not getting anywhere, and shit, here you are, a brother…and you've got a bigger badge than his. It kills him." Darnell finished his beer and laughed again. "No, he's not a racist. Hell, he likes me." He wiped his mouth. "But then, I'm just a bricklayer. Want another beer?" Darnell motioned to the waitress.

Darnell confirmed his read of Dennison. Uh-huh, it was a jealousy thing, just as he figured.

"So, are you going to the reunion on Friday?"

"Yeah, I am. That's why I came home this week."

"Think 'she's' going to be there?"

"I heard she was coming." Derek smiled, slightly. "Thanks," he said, glancing up at the waitress who put two more beers on the table.

"So, what do you know about her? Ever check her out on the internet? Maybe she's on FaceBook." Darnell laughed. "Shit, maybe she's married, fat, and has six kids. You're FBI. You should be able to find out all about her."

"I wouldn't do that." He replied, seriously. "It wouldn't be right." To be honest, he had considered it. Hell, he ached to know about her and how her life is now, but it didn't seem honorable to 'investigate' her. He was nervous about seeing her again, but he didn't want to talk about it. To Darnell, he only said, "how about a game of pool?"

Morgan and Darnell were over at the billiard table, setting up for another game, when they heard several shots being fired outside the bar, and the loud screeching of tires. Morgan was out in a flash, just in time to see a black sedan speeding up the street. A large black man lay near the door, in a growing puddle of blood. Derek recognized him as one of the bouncers who had ejected the men who were fighting.

Derek flipped open his cell, called in a description of the vehicle and ordered an ambulance. The witnesses said that the shooter was one of the men who had been thrown out of the club. Derek moved through the onlookers and knelt beside the man, knowing, even before he felt for a pulse, that he was dead. The bouncer had the same vacant look that he had seen in his father's eyes the day he was shot and died on the pavement in front of him.

xxxxx

Derek usually slept well in his childhood home, almost as if he was again a small boy, protected by loving parents. Tonight, however, he couldn't fall asleep. He was disturbed by the bouncer's death. The man's coworkers said that he was married with young children. He was a construction worker by day, who moonlighted at the club for extra cash. He has a disabled son, the other bouncer told him, and a bunch of medical bills he'd been trying to pay up. Abandoned another family, eh, God? He thought, sarcastically. She was on his mind, too. With less than forty-eight hours until he would see her again, he hoped he hadn't made a mistake by coming back. He rolled over in bed and reached for his phone.

It was nearly two o'clock when Penelope was awakened from a sound sleep. She was annoyed at being disturbed so late on a work night until he saw it was Derek. She knew he wouldn't call unless something was amiss.

"Hey, Pumpkin," she said, drowsily. "What's up?"

As soon as he heard how sleepy she sounded, he was sorry he'd called. He hadn't noticed it was so late, but he needed to hear her voice.

"I'm sorry, Babe. Go back to sleep. I forgot the time."

"Oooh, now don't do that to me, Hot Stuff," she quipped, suddenly wide awake. "Don't you get me all hot and bothered, and leave me. What's going on?"

"It's nothing…honestly. It was just a bad day." He didn't give her a chance to respond. "I'll call you tomorrow. Good-night, Baby Girl." He said, quickly, and hung-up.


	7. Chapter 7

Reunion

Chapter 7

It might have been because he hadn't had much sleep, or it was just one of those days when everything goes wrong, but Morgan's bathroom project didn't go well. It took twice as long as he expected to lay the floor tiles and give the room a fresh coat of paint, plus, he had to make two additional runs to the hardware store. But the end result was beautiful, and Fran Morgan couldn't have been happier. Derek was rushing to leave for the youth center, when she asked him. "What would you like for dinner tonight? Your sisters are coming over. I was thinking of making a meat loaf…"

Although he was in a hurry, Derek paused and gave his mother a peck on the cheek. "Mom, you've been cooking all week. Put on a pretty dress. I'm taking you out for dinner tonight. Tell the girls. I'll make reservations for us at Dante's. Be ready to leave by eight."

"Derek, Dante's? That's so expensive. Are you sure?"

"Ma," he warned. "What did I tell you?" He hated her worrying about money. Being able to indulge his mother was one of his pleasures. "Eight," he said with finality, and went out the front door.

Thursday afternoon was busy enough that he didn't have much time to worry about the reunion, now just a day away. He'd managed to put the horror of the bouncer's murder out of his mind, just as he compartmentalized all of the atrocities he saw investigating murders.

"It was just that the circumstances were similar to my father's death that it got to me." He confessed to Penelope, when he called her to apologize for waking her up last night. "Shit, if I got queasy every time I saw a violent death, I couldn't do my job."

"I understand," she said, empathetically, wishing she had the right words. Penelope thought of her BAU team members as her "babies," and she worried about all of them. Derek was the strongest member of the team, the person everyone else relied on. Yet, she understood what the others didn't. In some ways, Derek was also the most vulnerable of them all.

xxxxx

There was a chill in the Chicago air, as Derek and Sarah sat on the front steps of the home where they grew up. Desiree had just left and Fran was upstairs, getting ready for bed. "Think Ma had a good time tonight?" He asked.

"She loved it. It was cute when she got giggly on the wine. Mom's not used to drinking. Des enjoyed it, too. That useless shit, Curtis, never took her any place nice. Hell, that dog never took her anywhere, period. Did she tell you he called her up from jail?"

"No." Derek replied, aggravated. "What the fuck?"

"Thank God, she refused the call." Sarah was proud of her sister for having strength to resist. "She went to her first counseling session yesterday. And that support group for abused women meets tomorrow night. I told her I'd go with her for the first few weeks. She's so ashamed, like she's responsible for all the crap that went down with Curtis…or Marcus, or whatever that fool's name was."

He shook his head. "Just stay on her, Sis. I never realized how much Ashley's death fucked her up. She needs to do this."

"They were best friends, like from forever. You remember how it was. Me and you were always close, but she was closer to Ash. They were like twins with different mothers."

"Yeah," he smiled, remembering how Ashley was always at their house when they were kids. He even had a crush on Ash for a fast minute when he was about twelve.

Derek looked at the night sky and remarked to his sister. "You know, there are more stars in the sky in Virginia." A pair of police cars sped past the end of the Lafayette Street, sirens blaring. "Quieter, too. You can hear the crickets at night."

"Well hell, Derek, if cockroaches made a noise, we could probably hear them out here." She joked.

Feeling the nip in the air, he added, "and it's definitely warmer."

"Since when did you get so damned spoiled?" Sarah teased. "What happened to the brother that used to sit out here with me at night, drinking Kool-Aid and…"

"Agh! I haven't had Kool-Aid since I left home." He said, making a face.

"Yeah, and I bet you don't sit out on the stoop at your flashy assed suburban home either, do you? Heck, you've probably got a deck," she laughed. "Maybe a gas grill…doin' a little barbequing with the neighbors. I can picture you in your chef's apron…"

"I don't have an apron," he said, defensively, emphasizing the word "don't," but there was some truth in what she was saying. "And my house is nice, but it's not 'flashy.' The deck, I built myself. In fact, I'm doing most of the work on the house myself." He said, with pride in his voice. "You should visit. You haven't come out since I moved to Stafford."

Just after the first of the year, Morgan purchased a home in the quiet village of Stafford, south of Quantico. He found a house that was in foreclosure and needed some repairs. He enjoyed the prospect of refurbishing it, as working with his hands was a great stress reliever for him. His most recent project came to mind, and told his sister. "Oh, this is going to really kill you."

"What?"

"I just put a Jacuzzi out on the back deck." He broke out laughing when Sarah began smacking him on the arm.

"Tough city kid's come a long way from his roots, eh? So tell me, Little Brother," she asked, getting serious. "Is this a white neighborhood?"

"About eighty percent." He knew the actual demographics because he researched the neighborhood before he purchased his house, although he felt strange about admitting it to her. "Why?"

"Do you feel like you fit in there?"

"Nobody's gonna burn a cross on my lawn, if that's what you mean." He quipped.

"Give me a straight answer. Do you fit in there?"

He wondered why Sarah was asking this. "Yes, I do fit in there. Race doesn't seem to be an issue. Times have changed."

"Have they? How fast would your neighbors move out if a bunch of us black folks from Lafayette Street moved in?"

Derek was annoyed by the question. "Sis, what is this about?"

"Why did you come back, Derek? Are you going to that reunion because you want to see Vanessa, or do you have something to prove?"

"What the hell do you think I'm trying to prove?" Now, he was angry.

"That you're successful in the white man's world." She realized her tone was hard, and she checked herself. She put her hand on his arm and rubbed him, affectionately. "Derek, I don't mean to make you mad. I'm glad you're doing well. I just don't want to see you hurt. Have you ever told anyone what happened with her? Did you ever tell Mom?"

"You're the only one who knows what happened with Vanessa. You and my friend in Virginia are the only ones I have ever talked to about it. Forgive me for not wanting to share the most humiliating event of my life," he said, bitterly, and he stood up." I'm not talking about this anymore. I didn't get much sleep last night. I'm going to bed." He was angry with his sister but he was trying not to be. "Call me, if you need me tomorrow."

"You can call if you need me, too, Derek."

xxxxx

Derek took his mother's 1985 Dodge Aries to the car wash and used four dollars in quarters getting it spotless. He vacuumed, and sprayed the inside with new car scent. He polished the car until it sparkled like it had just rolled off the show room floor. He drove down to the florist to pick up the flowers he'd ordered for the event. They were pricey but gorgeous, and he was certain she would love them. He walked out to the car and reached into his pocket for the keys. They were missing. He retraced his steps, looking to see if he had dropped them. He went back into the flower shop and asked the shopkeeper if she had seen his keys, but to no avail. Perhaps he had locked them inside the car, and he went back out to look. Nothing! He stood with the flowers in his hand, considering what he should do next, when he spotted Vanessa. She was walking with someone about a half a block ahead. He didn't recognize the man she was with. He called to her, but she didn't hear him, or at least she didn't answer. He called to her again, but she still didn't respond. He wanted to go after her but he didn't want to leave his mother's car unattended in this neighborhood. He stood there holding her flowers, feeling foolish as he watched her getting farther and farther away from him.

And then he woke up. Like many dreams, it didn't really make sense, but it followed the recurrent theme of all of the dreams he had been having since he decided to see her again…Vanessa eluded him while he stood there like a fool.

He turned over and went back to sleep, relieved that it was only a dream.


	8. Chapter 8

Reunion

Chapter 8

Morgan slept late on Friday morning. It was one of his mother's days to work at the day care center, and she was already gone when he woke up. He was greeted, however, with a pot of fresh coffee and a note telling him all of the breakfast possibilities. He looked in the refrigerator, took a long drink from the quart of chocolate milk, and decided on a muffin. He poured a cup of coffee, and went out to the living room to read the newspaper, which his mother had left on the coffee table for him. He was always touched by his mother's thoughtfulness, which wasn't reserved for him, but for everyone in her world. He understood why his father used to tell him how lucky he was to have found her. In the quiet solitude of the family home, he could almost hear Sam's voice telling him. "I knew the first time I laid eyes on her that she was something special. She's the only completely good person I've ever known."

Derek hadn't read a newspaper in a long time, getting most of his news online or from cable news these days, and although he had brought his laptop to Chicago with him, he hadn't even turned it on. Hell, it was a relief to be away from it. Several headlines caught his eye. A suspect was in custody for the murder of the bouncer at the South End Bar, and there was a gang related drive-by last night that killed one man and injured another. It was only a few blocks away and happened around the time he and Sarah were sitting outside. The police cars they saw were likely heading to the scene, he reasoned.

The next headline made him really angry. "FBI Reports That Murder Rate In Chicago Is Likely To Surpass 2009." There were 458 murders in the city last year, it stated. God damn it, and I can't persuade my mother to move the hell out. And Sarah's got a lot of fucking nerve busting on me about living in a decent neighborhood. I deal with horror and death every fucking day on the job. I watched our father take a bullet in his head in this fucking neighborhood, he thought, angerily. He was damned glad he could afford to live where the madness didn't go on.

In frustration, he tossed the paper aside and called Garcia. He wanted to get a head's up on what was going on at the office and what he may have to face on Monday.

"Agh, just same do-do, different day. I was just headed down to the briefing. Are you nervous about the reunion tonight," she asked him.

"I've been trying not to think about it." He replied. The truth was, he actually had butterflies in his stomach when he thought of going, which made him feel as ridiculous as a damned teenager. "I probably won't call you tonight, Babe. It may be a late night."

Everything in Penelope wanted to plead with him not to go. Yes, she felt threatened by his feelings for Vanessa, but it was more than that. She wanted to protect him, and knew she couldn't. "Call me when you get the chance, Cupcake." She said, trying to sound casual. "Have a good time."

xxxxx

Vanessa Fowler-Richardson checked into The Renaissance Hotel at just past 3 p.m. She made a quick phone call to her daughter, and unpacked. Carefully, she hung the shimmering, royal blue gown that she'd selected to wear tonight. She filled the garden tub, and slipped into the warm water, trying to relax. She was as nervous as a school girl about seeing him after so many years.

"Mom, what's so special about this guy?" Kelly asked her, when Vanessa told her she was going to Chicago. "It's been twenty years. He's probably married with kids." Her daughter laughed. "He might be bald and fat…"

"He's not." Vanessa interrupted. She had seen Derek's photo in the newspaper two years ago when he was cited for heroism. She knew he was FBI, and she knew about the ticking bomb he drove into Central Park in New York City. He was as handsome in the newspaper photo as he was the first time she saw him, on the first day of her senior year at Putnam High School. "He was my high school sweetheart, Honey. I couldn't do this while your father was alive, but I just have to see him again. Things didn't end well between us." So, Vanessa sent her sixteen year old daughter to visit her grandmother for the weekend while she flew to Chicago to see Derek Morgan.

The reunion was being held in the Crystal Ballroom of the Renaissance, with an open bar from six to eight. She decided to arrive about 7:30. She didn't want to look too eager, and she wasn't much interested in drinking. In fact, she wanted to be completely sober when she faced Derek. There was so much to say.

xxxxx

Morgan had a meeting to attend at one with some of the committee members who run the Upward Youth Center. He was happy for the diversion. Six members discussed new programs and evaluated existing ones. His old nemesis turned 'sort of' friend, Stan Gordinski, was there and even asked him out to have a beer when the meeting was over. He had to decline because of the reunion, but he couldn't help but marvel at how times had changed. A beer with Stanley Gordinski! He was elated that Wally Dennison had to work and couldn't attend. He wasn't in the mood to put up with his petty bullshit today. He was home from the center at four. He and his mother arrived at the same time. As usual, Fran wanted to feed him. "Something before you go," she offered.

"Ma, it's a party. There will be plenty to eat." He just smiled and shook his head. If he still lived at home, he could easily get so fat he couldn't walk. He packed a small overnight bag, and left with his suit in a garment bag. "I won't be home tonight." He told his mother, as he was going out the door.

"Derek, where are you going to stay?" Fran sounded concerned.

"I got a room at the Renaissance, where we're having the reunion. If you need me, call my cell. I'll have it with me." He assured her. "I don't want to drive home from downtown at one or two in the morning in a rental car after a party. The cops will be looking to make stops, and it's just inviting trouble."

Driving up the interstate, he realized his palms were sweating as he held the steering wheel. "Calm down, Derek." He admonished himself. "This is ridiculous. You're not some fucking kid on his first date." He took a couple of calming deep breaths, and tried to tell himself that seeing Vanessa wasn't nearly as important as he knew it was.


	9. Chapter 9

Reunion

Chapter 9

Sarah Morgan tapped impatiently on the steering wheel of her 2009 Toyota, as she sat in traffic on I-94. Mary J. Blige was playing on the CD player, and was the only pleasurable aspect of a very frustrating afternoon. If traffic didn't begin moving faster, she would have to go directly to Desiree's apartment. She had wanted to stop at her condo and change into something more casual than her bank attire, but she didn't want to be late picking Des up for her support group. Well, if she had to go in high heels and a business suit, so be it. Her position at Northern Bank required her to dress professionally, but damn, she would love to put on some jeans and comfortable pair of shoes for the evening.

She glanced at her watch. It was nearly six o'clock. Okay, she would get off at the next exit and take side streets to Desi's. It should be faster than this Friday craziness. She wondered if Derek was driving the other direction on the highway, heading up town to his reunion. Traffic was flowing easily going north. Of course, it's just us lemmings who are trying to make our escape that are having problems, she thought, sourly.

As she inched along to her exit point, Sarah couldn't help but worry about Derek. Oh, he would be pissed for sure if he knew. He would probably tell her to back off and mind her own business, but she couldn't turn off the "big sister" side of her personality so easily. She was the one person who knew how devastated he was by what happened with Vanessa, and she hated the idea of him getting hurt again.

She thought back to the day her brother met Vanessa. It was the first day of his senior year in high school. She and Des were still living at home, while they attended community college. Even when her children were grown, their mother tried to have a family meal as many nights as possible. When Derek sat down for dinner that night, he excitedly told them about the pretty new student who asked him for directions to the chemistry lab. Later, he told them, she came into the cafeteria with her tray, took the seat across from him, and asked if he'd mind her sitting with him. He sounded amazed that such a pretty girl was interested in him.

As the school year progressed, they heard more and more about Vanessa. With his busy sports schedule and studies, Derek seldom had much time for actual dating, but they knew from his conversation about her that he and Vanessa shared several classes. He talked about them eating lunch together every day, and they weren't surprised when he announced that he had invited Vanessa to the prom.

Finally! Sarah was glad to see the exit ramp. Mary J. Blige was singing "I Can't Wait," as she made her escape from the heavy traffic. She checked the time again. Good, with luck she'd be at Desi's in ten minutes. She kicked off her high heels and wiggled her toes as she drove, relieved to be barefooted. She passed a drive-thru donut shop without a line at the window, and she pulled in for a cup of coffee. Maybe it would take the edge off her appetite until the meeting was over. She was going to take Des out to the diner afterward so they could talk.

About a mile from her sister's apartment, Sarah passed the shopping center where Derek worked for several weeks during his senior year.

"But Derek, when are you going to have time to sleep?" She remembered her mother asking when he said he got a night job in the Kmart receiving department.

"Ma, I'm working from ten 'til two. I can take a nap before work, and sleep almost four hours when I get home. It will be fine. It's just until I get enough money for the prom. I can't expect you to pay for it. I have to rent a tux, buy flowers, pay for the tickets, and I want to have the money to take her to Club Tabu afterward. And I need…"

"Okay, okay, I get it." Fran laughed, seeing the excitement in her son. "This is important to you." Just like Sam was, she thought, when he gets an idea in his head. "So, what's Club Tabu?"

"It's a 17 and older club downtown. We're all going."

Derek hadn't gone to the prom in his junior year. His mother thought it was shyness that kept her handsome boy from asking someone out, and she was delighted that he wouldn't miss out.

Sarah pulled up to Desi's and saw the curtain in her living room move. Des was out the door before she could even turn off the engine. "Anxious?" She questioned, as Des got into the car beside her.

"Curtis called." She confessed, nervously. "Four times."

"You didn't talk to that bastard, did you?" Her voice elevated and she was prepared to get angry.

"No, but he left a message. Sarah, he was crying. He wants me to forgive him. He says he still loves me."

Des couldn't see it, but Sarah rolled her eyes in disgust. She held her tongue and didn't say what she was tempted to say, and her worry for Derek was suddenly overshadowed by her concern for Des. Oh Lord, I hope this support group thing helps her, she thought, as she pulled away.

xxxxx

Derek studied himself in the full-length mirror on the hotel room wall. He wasn't really one to think much about his looks, but tonight, looking good was important to him. Most of his life he had been told he was handsome, and hell, whatever he had going for him seemed to work. After he got past his teenage insecurities, he never had any problems attracting women, and to be honest, he damn well enjoyed the attention.

There were years when he despised his looks. During the time that Buford molested him, he hated the sight of himself so much that he could barely look at his image in a mirror. He went to church often back then, praying to God over and over to make the sexual abuse stop. He would plead with God to make him ugly. In his young mind, he thought that if he were ugly, maybe Carl would leave him the fuck alone. Of course, God ignored him, just like always. He recalled how Buford would get all liquored up before he touched him. When he was doing things to him, he would tell him repeatedly how "beautiful" he was, how "handsome." God damn, the memories were still so close to the surface, he could almost smell the whiskey on Carl, and it made him want to gag. To this day, he didn't drink whiskey. He couldn't get past the stink without feeling nauseous. .

He pulled his thoughts back to the moment at hand, and Vanessa. "Okay, Morgan," he said to himself in the mirror. "Not bad for a man pushing forty." He straightened his tie, slipped his room key into his pocket, and headed for the elevator. He pressed the button for the ground floor, and was annoyed with himself when he noticed his palms were sweating again. As he stepped from the elevator, he could hear the music coming from the banquet room. He took a deep breath, and headed down the hall.

"Well, here goes nothing," he thought, uneasily.


	10. Chapter 10

REUNION

Chapter 10

The banquet room of the Renaissance was elegantly decorated in the Putnam High School colors of black and silver. Morgan was struck by the irony of having a reunion for people who grew up in a poor neighborhood at such an expensive place. Shit, the only alumni who can afford to be here are the ones who made it out of the neighborhood…or the damned drug dealers, he thought, sourly.

He found his name tag on the table near the door and put it on. He scanned the remaining tags and spotted Vanessa Fowler-Richardson. He was taken aback for a moment seeing her married name, but of course, he should have realized she would have gotten married. Jake Hendricks only told him that she was coming, but nothing else about her. Okay, good! There was no other tag with the last name of Richardson. At least he wouldn't have to see her with a husband.

Speak of the devil; Hendricks was by the door greeting his former classmates as they entered. "Derek Morgan, how the hell are you?" Hendricks asked, shaking his hand. He introduced him to his wife, a short, dark woman with a dumpy figure and pleasant smile. Hendricks was sporting a paunch, mostly concealed by the cut of his expensive suit, but otherwise hadn't changed much from his high school days. Derek had heard that his wife's father owned a couple of successful car dealerships, and was obliging enough to have died and left them to his daughter.

"Derekkkk," a woman's voice shrieked as he stepped into the room, and he turned to see a tall, thin woman with long beaded braids in a tight red dress. She rushed toward him, as quickly as her slinky skirt and high heels would allow. "I'd know you anywhere," she said, excitedly and she hugged him. He was trying hard to place her, when he felt her slip her hand inside his suit jacket and begin to feel his chest.

"Um…excuse me?"

"I heard you were FBI," she said, laughing. "I thought for sure you'd be wearing a gun."

Actually, he was wearing his ankle holster, not that he was going to tell her that. He still didn't know who the hell she was, but he stepped back and looked at her name tag. "Uh, Jasmine…Jasmine Miller. Hey, looking good, Baby." After the initial surprise, he was amused by her groping him. She was obviously buzzed, and he couldn't remember a damned thing about her, but he played along. "You here alone?" He asked, just for something to say.

"Just as free as can be," she responded, as Morgan very deliberately removed her hand from inside his jacket, and buttoned it again. He chatted with her for a moment, and then looked for an excuse to get away.

She was still hanging on him when he thought he spotted Ramone Watson walking back from the bar carrying a pair of drinks. Okay, he was done indulging this woman. "Excuse me, Jasmine. I have to say 'hello' to someone over there," and he approached the table where he saw Ramone sit down.

"Hey, Derek! My man," his old friend said when he saw him. "How's it hangin'?"

If it had just been the two of them, he would have told him it was "hangin' low," or some other smart assed answer, but he wasn't going to be that crude in front of the pretty blond seated beside Watson. "Meet my wife, Lynn." He gestured toward her.

Morgan was surprised. He hadn't heard that Ramone had married a Caucasian woman. Neither his mother, nor Mrs. Watson ever mentioned it when they told him he'd gotten married and then he realized, of course, they wouldn't. To people like Fran or Ramone's mom, color wasn't all that important.

Lynn was one of only a smattering of Whites in the room, and he wondered if she felt awkward. Well, maybe not, since she married a Black man, he decided. There had been very few White students at Putnam until the school district was rezoned just before his senior year and they then began taking students from Hyde Park. The new students weren't readily accepted at the school and he wondered how many would come out tonight. He was aggravated with himself for even thinking about race. He didn't usually, except when he came back home. Here it seemed to him that the color lines were more acutely drawn, far more than the world he resided in now.

Derek immediately recognized Celina Townsend, when she and her date came over and asked to join their table. He used to enjoy they way the former cheerleader filled out her Putnam High School sweater, and he'd always liked watching her tits bounce when she did her cheers. Back then, Morgan's football team referred to her as "everybody's girl," because most of them had nailed her at one time or another. The man she was with was at least ten years her junior and she introduced him simply as "Howard." He was a handsome, light-skinned man who spoke with a Jamaican accent. He also seemed to enjoy Celina's tits, as Morgan frequently saw his eyes on her cleavage, which she had perfectly showcased in a sleek, black dress.

Derek got a vodka and cranberry juice from the bar and sat back down at the table, frequently looking to the entryway for Vanessa. There were plenty of people he could talk to if he wanted to mingle, as the room was filling up, but he wasn't up for it.

Gregory Sanchez and his wife joined their table, and Jamal Easterbrook and his date. Both were men who had played on sports teams with Morgan. He tried to listen politely to the conversation and, occasionally, he made an appropriate comment, but didn't really join in. He was starting to understand why he never attended any of the other reunions. All of the people from school who mattered to him, he still saw once in awhile. He would run into Ramone every couple of years and the two of them would go down to the South End for a beer. The two other good friends he had in high school worked on the youth center's committee and saw them when he came to town. If he hadn't heard that Vanessa Fowler was coming tonight, he would never have seen any of the other people here again.

The waiters were starting to set up the buffet, and Morgan checked his watch. It was almost seven thirty. He was getting increasingly agitated. He looked around the room, thinking he might have missed her arrival, but nothing. Maybe she'd changed her mind about coming. Ah hell; it was a crazy idea wanting to see her again, anyway. After all of these years, she might not even remember him, or if she did, she probably wouldn't care. She might feel about him the same way he felt about the people here tonight. In twenty years, she never made an effort to find him. Shit, she didn't even try to contact him after what happened. She'd made a fool of him once, and he was giving her a chance to do it again. Sarah was right. It was a mistake to come here.

He excused himself from the table. He'd already paid for the fucking room. He would go upstairs, call Penelope, and watch the game that was on tonight, which was what he really wanted to do anyway. He could order something from room service for dinner. Fuck this! He thought, as he was about to make his escape.

"Derek?" A familiar voice said to him, just as he'd reached the door. He turned to see Vanessa Fowler, standing near the table where the name tags had been placed. She was stunning in a shimmering cobalt blue dress that perfectly matched her eyes. Her blond hair cascaded to her bare shoulders, and she looked so beautiful, she almost took his breath away. Although less girlish in her appearance, she was as pretty as she was the first time he saw her, that day she stood in the hallway of Putnam, asking him for directions to the chemistry lab. She smiled, and her voice quivered slightly from nervousness when she asked. "You aren't leaving, are you?"


	11. Chapter 11

REUNION

Chapter 11

Sarah shook her foot impatiently, an unconscious habit of hers when she was annoyed or anxious. She was listening to her sister open up to the battered women's group they were attending. Although was glad to hear Des speaking up, but she was becoming increasingly agitated as she heard more and more about Curtis that she never knew. Given the opportunity, she would be happy to choke the triflin' piece of trash, she thought, as her foot shook a little faster. She'd also like give her sister a piece of her mind for putting up with his bullshit for nearly a year. Yes, she understood all that 'survival guilt' stuff that Derek talked about, but she didn't have patience to indulge it tonight. She sighed with exasperation. And as for Derek…She looked at the clock on the wall. It was after nine o'clock. Well, by now he's either seen Vanessa and it's good, or he's out at the youth center shooting baskets in the dark, or some nonsense like that, just like he was on the night of the prom when she found him. Dang fools, the both of them! Des mooning after that no account fool, and Derek carrying a torch for some honey all these years. If the pair of them had any sense, she could be home now, eating a nice Caesar's salad, watching a movie, and putting the lousy work week she'd had behind her. Instead, she was here in the basement of this church, feet hurting from these damn tight shoes, hungry as all hell, and worrying about them.

But, she wasn't really angry. She was concerned. "Honey, you're like your Mother," her Dad used to say to her. "You worry about everybody. People are gonna do what they do. It makes no sense to stress about things you can't do nothin' about." As much as Fran was a worrier, Sam was easy-going, and yes, she was like her Mother. That's why she was already thinking about driving past the Upward Youth Center on her way home, even if it was ten minutes out of her way. She had to make sure her brother wasn't there, she decided, as her thoughts drifted back to Derek's prom night.

The day had been unseasonably hot for May. She had just bought her first car, a white 1979 Ford Thunderbird. It needed a paint job and a right fender, but it ran great and she was in love with it. Ashley and Des had gone to the movies that night, and Sarah went to pick them up. She was just coming back from dropping them at Ash's, when she spotted her Mother's car parked on the side street by the youth center.

"What the…?" She was confused when she saw it.

Derek had spent the morning washing and polishing the car to drive him and Vanessa to the prom. She felt bad for him. He was disappointed that he hadn't saved enough money for the deposit needed to rent a car, so she offered him the use of her T-bird. He looked at the dented fender, smiled sadly and thanked her, and readily accepted Fran's offer to let him use her Dodge Aries. He took it through the car wash, and then spent three hours polishing it, until the five year old sedan shined like brand new.

Sarah drove around the block to see if she really saw what she thought she saw. Yep, it was her Mom's car alright, and in the semi-darkness, she could see her brother, minus his jacket and shirt, out on the basketball court. She parked behind him and got out to see what was going on.

"Derek, what are you doing here?" She questioned, as she stood at the gate watching him shoot baskets. His shirt and jacket were hung neatly over the fence, and he was shirtless in the sultry heat.

"Derek?" She repeated, but he ignored her. Even in the dim light from the street lamp, she could see the tracks of the tears that were spilling down his face. "Derek?" She came inside the yard and stood at the edge of the court. "What happened? Did Vanessa stand you up?" He continued dribbling and making shots, ignoring her. Finally, she pleaded. "Derek, please! Talk to me."

He made three more shots before turning to her. "No." His tone was even, but his voice was hoarse. "Vanessa didn't stand me up. I never even saw her."

"Why? What…"

He made another shot, went to a bench by the fence, and sat down. So energetic a moment ago, he seemed tired and defeated. He wiped his cheeks with his hand and sighed deeply before he began. Sarah sat down beside him and listened to the painful account of how Vanessa's father turned him away.

"He took one look at me and told me he was sorry, but Vanessa was sick and wouldn't be able to go out. When I told him I had just talked to her on the phone and she was fine, he got pissed and told me to get the hell out of his house."

"Why? I don't understand."

"Neither did I…Sis, I was so…shocked. I just left. I felt like I'd been slapped in the face and I didn't understand why. I didn't know what the fuck I could do, so I drove away. I got down the street, and after I'd had a couple of minutes to think, I stopped at a drug store and used the pay phone to call Vanessa." He seemed relieved to have her to confide in as he continued. "I called her three fucking times, and her father…I guess it was her father…just kept hanging up the phone. I had her flowers and I wanted her to have them, so I went back. I was going to ask Mr. Fowler if I could at least give them to her." Derek paused for a moment. "Nah, that's not really true." He admitted. "I wanted an explanation, and the chance to talk to Vanessa…something."

Sarah saw his jaw tighten as he continued. "They had some of their windows open, and I could hear them arguing when I pulled up. Mr. Fowler was telling Vanessa that he knew when they rezoned the school districts, she would be going to school with a lot of 'spades,' but he didn't expect her to 'take up with one.' Apparently, he knows Mom slightly from the curriculum committee. Since Mom's white, it never occurred to him that I wasn't. And besides, I don't have, as he put it, 'some crazy jigaboo name.'" He shook his head slightly and sneered. "He was okay with her going with me until he saw me. So I put her flowers on the porch and left." He added, almost wistfully. "You know, I did see Vanessa through the window. She was all dressed and ready to go. She had a blue dress on that matched the ribbons on the flowers I bought. She looked…" He smiled slightly when he said "amazing."

Sarah was stunned. "Derek, you never told us Vanessa was white."

Suddenly, he was angry. "Did I have to? Does it matter?" He picked up his basketball and got up. "Go home, Sis. Leave me the fuck alone."

"I'm sorry, Derek. It DOESN'T matter." She emphasized. "I was just surprised…" She saw that he was crying again, as he resumed making shots, but she realized his tears weren't sadness, but from rage that he was struggling to control.

"I'll be home late, probably not until tomorrow." He said, harshly. He missed a shot, and tried again. "And don't fucking tell Mom about this. She'll want to talk to that son-of-a-bitch, and I don't want my mother fighting my fucking battles for me."

She hurt for him. She knew how hard he'd worked for the money to take Vanessa out and to make the night as special as he could. She didn't know any words that could ease the pain he was feeling, and she felt utterly helpless. She left her brother alone to work though his emotions. Maybe tomorrow they could talk.

Desiree's support group was breaking up for the evening. The participants stood in a circle while the leader of the group led a closing prayer. At the end, Desiree was smiling. Good, Sarah thought. She seemed to have gotten some benefit from the meeting.

Someone was putting deserts out on a table, and there was fresh coffee brewing. Sarah had planned on taking Des to the diner afterward, but she was too anxious to find out about Derek. She and Des could have a couple of cookies and some coffee, make a few minutes of small talk, and get the hell out of there. After she dropped Des off, she would call Derek. He'd get mad at her checking on him, but she'd think of an excuse for why she was calling.

Des was sipping a cup of coffee, standing with a pair of women from the group. Sarah sat down with her drink and a sugar cookie and waited, nervously. She crossed her legs, and unconsciously, she began to jiggle her foot.


	12. Chapter 12

REUNION

Chapter 12

It was the summer of his thirteenth birthday when Carl Buford first took Derek to his cabin. Fran shared her son's excitement as she helped him pack for the week long trip to Minnesota. She was delighted that her boy had a fatherly influence in his life again. Derek had taken his dad's death hard. He barely cried after Sam was murdered. She was concerned by his lack of emotion, but she sensed an awful rage in him, like a deadly riptide in a seemingly tranquil sea. His grades had suffered and he had been hanging out with some older boys, rumored to be part of a gang. Her concerns for Derek were assuaged when he started going to the youth center. In recent weeks, Buford had taken him under his wing. He got him interested in sports, which gave her boy a positive direction and an outlet for his feelings. He said Derek was a gifted athlete, and he was sure that with his mentoring, he would be able to earn an athletic scholarship. Instead of running the streets, Derek now spent his time at the center, working out and practicing.

Fran watched her son load his backpack into the back of Buford's van and get in. He grinned at her and gave her a small wave. "I'll have him back Sunday afternoon, M'iz Morgan," Carl told her, before he pulled away. She watched the van go down Lafayette Street and turn. "Thank God for Carl Buford," she thought, never suspecting that she was sending her son off to begin a nightmare that would affect him for the rest of his life.

The sexual abuse of Derek Morgan continued for just over three years, until Buford's attention became focused on a younger kid, newly signed up for the basketball team. DeAndre Shaw was another fatherless boy being raised by a single mother. Derek was relieved when he heard Carl had invited him camping. He thought about warning Shaw, but he was afraid to cross Carl. He was being scouted by colleges and he needed Buford's recommendation. Besides, he was too ashamed to ever admit to the things that happened. In a neighborhood where "queers and faggots" were routinely joked about, sneered at, and even beaten, how could he ever talk to anyone about what he let Carl do to him? He gratefully accepted his reprieve and kept silent.

The first times Buford touched him, Derek would stiffen, afraid to even move. He was terrified of the man, who was very drunk when he violated him, and unpredictable. After a time, he simply became resigned, as he'd learned what to expect. He would close his eyes and wait for it to be over; trying to imagine that he was anywhere else in the world. Often, he would hold his breath for as long as he could, as to not inhale the stench of the whiskey on Carl, which sickened him. He could finally relax when he heard the grotesque groans his abuser would emit when he climaxed, and he knew the man would sleep off his alcohol and leave him alone. Sometimes, Carl became frustrated by Derek's lack of response. "Try to cum, Boy." He would tell him in a thick voice. "C'mon. Y'all know it feels good. Le'me taste that sweet man juice of yours." Occasionally, his body would involuntarily react to what Carl was doing and he would ejaculate. So deep was his shame that he began to doubt his sexuality.

As Derek grew handsome and became known for his athletic abilities, he received considerable attention from the girls at Putnam High, but he was oblivious to most of their flirtations. So engrossed in his own self-loathing, he never perceived that someone would find him attractive. He concentrated on his school work and sports, preparing his escape to something better. He was determined to become someone who would no longer bring shame on his father's memory, which he felt he'd done. He never dated. At a time in life when young males were largely preoccupied with sex, Derek rarely even masturbated, as it would conjure up painful recollections of what had happened with Buford. Although he was intrigued by the pretty blond girl who asked for directions to the chemistry lab that first morning of his senior year, he wouldn't have approached her. If she hadn't come into the lunchroom and taken a seat at his table, he would never have gotten to know her.

Vanessa was always the initiator in their relationship, out-going, friendly, and talkative; she was easy to relate to and had a knack for getting Derek to open up. She shared his interest in sports. She made him laugh, and she was sensitive to the undercurrent of sadness in him. It was, perhaps, his sadness that drew her to him.

When you fall in love at seventeen and a half, is it truly love, or a school boy's crush? Dancing close to Vanessa in the dimly lit ballroom, he wondered about the strong emotions she still aroused in him.

xxxxx

Penelope's wall clock chimed ten o'clock. She sipped her glass of chardonnay and clicked through the channels, finally settling for a mystery on Lifetime. She was looking for anything to keep her attention from Morgan. If something was amiss, he would have called by now, she reasoned, and she didn't really expect to talk with him tonight. He told her he wouldn't be calling, but she missed hearing his voice. Even after all of the years she'd known him, it still gave her a small twinge of excitement when she heard him on the other end of the line. Often, talking with Derek was the best part of her day.

Ten minutes into the movie, she realized that she'd seen it before and she knew who the murderer was. She went to the kitchen and made microwave popcorn, came back with a bowl and another glass of wine, and again began flipping through the channels. How the heck can you have over two hundred channels and not find anything to watch? She thought with frustration. She stopped on a cooking show called "Backwoods Recipes." Penelope watched for a couple of minutes until she realized, to her horror, that the cook was preparing a dish made with squirrel. She turned off her television in disgust and reached for the book she had been reading this week. It was a romance novel by Nora Roberts entitled "Happily Ever After." Well, I'm hoping, she thought cynically, as she opened to the page she had marked. After she read the same two pages three times, and didn't comprehend any of it, she gave up and admitted to herself how worried she was about Derek.

If that woman hurts him again, or if anyone hurts him, she would happily scratch their eyes out with her long, perfectly manicured, chartreuse fingernails. She knew the tender heart hidden beneath his tough exterior, and he didn't deserve any more pain. And, if she was being really honest with herself, she had to admit feeling very threatened by Vanessa Fowler. She had seen her picture in his high school year book. She was a stunning beauty, slim, athletic, and many things Penelope knew she wasn't. She had been tempted to research her on the web. Maybe she didn't age well, dare she hope? But, it wouldn't be honorable and Derek wouldn't like it, so she resisted the temptation. If she and Derek rekindled whatever they once felt for each other, there isn't a doggone thing she could do about it.

She clicked on the television again. The cook was just putting a casserole into the oven. Unconsciously, she sighed, as she reminded herself of the old saying. "If you love something, set it free. If it comes back…"

xxxxx

For the first time in twenty years, Vanessa Fowler was in Derek's arms, and the feeling was as glorious as the first time, when he kissed her behind the bleachers one crisp, fall evening. They were dancing to Lionel and Diana singing "Endless Love." Vanessa tilted her head back and smiled, sadly. "We've waited a long time for our dance. Haven't we?" Tears glistened in her eyes.

He didn't reply. As happy as he was to be with her, he was anxious for them to be alone. When she encountered him in the hallway, they spoke for a few minutes. They agreed to spend some time at the event, eat the pricey meal they had already paid for, and then leave together. "I'm staying here all weekend, Derek. We'll have time together." She added, tentatively, "if you want it."

There was so much to talk about, questions to be answered. They ached to be alone together, but they'd already waited twenty years. They could be patient a few hours longer.

Vanessa laid her head against Derek's shoulder as they danced. Lost in the moment, he pulled her closer, and his lips gently brushed her hair.


	13. Chapter 13

REUNION

Chapter 13

Class President Jake Hendrickson was talking over the loud speaker system when Derek and Vanessa slipped away from the gathering, giggling like a pair of students cutting class. They could hear Jake thanking the reunion committee as Derek pushed the elevator call button. "We didn't even say 'good-bye' to anyone." Vanessa remarked.

"We'll apologize at the next reunion." Derek stepped aside to let her enter first. "Your place or mine?" He asked with a broad smile.

"I don't know, Agent Morgan." She answered, impishly. "Can I trust you?"

"Not even a little bit." He felt his cell vibrating in his pocket. Checking it, he saw that is was Sarah for the third time this evening. He turned off his phone and pressed the button for the floor where he was staying. If anyone really needed to reach him, they could call the damned hotel, he thought with annoyance, aggravated that she was checking up on him.

Unconsciously, Vanessa took his hand as they exited the elevator and they walked to the room holding hands, just as they used to when Derek would walk her to class. He paused before he inserted his key into the door and asked seriously. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she replied, excited at the prospect of being with him again.

When the door closed behind them, he took Vanessa in his arms and tenderly kissed her. He unzipped the sleek, blue dress, slipped it off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Caressing her exposed breasts, his passion grew. He wanted her terribly, but controlled his feelings. Slowly, he slid his hands down to her buttocks, pulled down her lace panties, and let them fall. Cupping his hands over her bare derriere, he drew her closer and she felt the hardness of him. A soft moan escaped his lips when she undid his pants and reached inside. Her gently exploring fingers slowly examined each area of his body as she undressed him. She pulled down his briefs. "Oh!" She was startled when she felt the pistol strapped to his right leg.

"I'm sorry," he told her, unstrapping his weapon and placing it on the nearby dresser.

Slightly unnerved, she resumed her seduction. When he was naked, she knelt down on the thick carpet and put her mouth on his erect penis. Derek stiffened.

"N-no!" He said, firmly, backing away.

"I'm sorry, Baby." She apologized. "I forgot that you didn't like it."

When they were teenagers, she used to hear the boys talking about getting "blow jobs." She was naive about such things then but she assumed it was something that all guys wanted. She loved Derek so much she would have done nearly anything to bring him pleasure, but he pulled away back then, too.

He reached down and assisted her to her feet, and they kissed again. With their bare bodies pressed together, the hunger for each other grew, and tender kisses became frenzied. "Oh, please, Derek, please…now," Vanessa pleaded, eager to have him inside her. They were still kissing fervidly when he picked her up in his arms and carried her to his bed.

xxxxx

"Now, why would you want to leave when you can stay and shower with me?" Derek told her, grinning. "I'll wash your back…any other parts you want washed, too." He was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Vanessa get dressed. Her body was as toned and svelte as it was when she was a cheerleader, and the sight of her aroused him. It would take very little persuasion for him to make love to her again.

"Well, I need my toothbrush and besides, I don't have any clothes up here but this prom gown."

Interesting, the profiler thought, that she called her dress her "prom gown." Freudian slip? It had seemed to him that she was trying to recreate the night they never got to spend together. Even the gown she'd worn was the same color as the one she had selected for their prom.

Derek's room key lay on the dresser beside his gun and holster. Vanessa was leery of guns and was unnerved by the sight of it. It caused her to pause for an instant before she picked up the key. She turned and gave him a quick kiss. Playfully, he took her hand and tried to pull her down to the bed with him. "If you really must wear clothes, you can put on one of my tee shirts."

"Derek, be good." She said with mock sternness, and stood up. "I'll be back in twenty minutes."

With an exaggerated frown and a groan of resignation, he replied. "Okay, I'll get a shower and order breakfast."

He watched with pleasure, her fine, firm ass walking out the door before he called down to room service. Fifteen minutes later he was shaved, showered, and dressed in a burgundy shirt and black slacks. He wondered if he was wearing too much cologne. He didn't want to seem like he was trying too hard. He sat down at the table near the windows, which gave him a panoramic view of the city. Looks a hell of a lot better from up here, he mused, as his mind flashed back to his days as a police officer. He checked his cell phone and saw the calls from his sister and one from Garcia. Seeing Penelope's name, he suddenly felt awfully guilty. First, he called Sarah.

"Yes, everything's fine." He told her, with a slight edge in his voice. "Yes, I had a good time." He didn't want to make explanations or talk about Vanessa, and he sure as shit didn't want to tell her that he spent the night with her. "Is everything okay with Ma and Des? No more phone calls from Curtis?" When he was assured there were no problems, he cut the conversation short. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow. We'll have dinner with Mom before I fly out." Sarah started to say something else, probably to ask why he wasn't coming back until Sunday, but he abruptly clicked her off.

He took a deep breath before he called Garcia, hoping he'd sound casual. "Hey, Baby Girl! What's up?"

Penelope had just put some music on the stereo and was about to start her Saturday morning cleaning ritual. For the second Saturday in a row, Morgan called as was dragging out the vacuum. She dashed to turn down the volume on her Carrie Underwood CD. She was nervous when she saw Derek's name on the caller ID. She had tried to call him when she got up, but was sorry that she did. After all, she reasoned, she wouldn't want him to get the wrong idea. It wasn't like she was keeping tabs on him. Really, she wasn't. It was just that she'd been so worried. At first, she was afraid that Derek was going to get hurt, and then…oh, darn, she was ashamed of herself for even thinking it…she was afraid that he wouldn't. Supposed he and Vanessa hit if off again, and suppose… No! She wouldn't let herself even imagine. She just wouldn't.

"Hi, Sugar Buns. How was your party?" She, too, was trying to sound natural.

"I had a good time. Saw a lot of old friends." He knew she wanted to know about Vanessa. He didn't want to lie to her, but he didn't know what to say. Maybe she wouldn't ask.

"Did you take pictures? How was the food?" She felt silly making small talk. She didn't give a rat's ass about the food or seeing any photos of his old football buddies. All she really wanted to know about was 'her.'

"Yeah, I took a few photos. I'll show you when I get back. They had a big buffet dinner, open bar. Pretty good DJ, too. He played mostly old school." Admittedly, Derek had been known to talk some shit to women from time to time, but he would never lie to Garcia, and he knew he'd better get off the phone before he said the wrong thing. "So, uh, tomorrow…"

Okay, Penelope, she told herself. You can't let him got off the phone and not know. Just come out and say it. She had a knot in her stomach but she asked. "Did Vanessa come?" Good God, she hoped she didn't sound desperate.

Derek cleared his throat before he answered to give himself an instant to think. "Uh, yeah, she was there. We sat at the same table and we danced a few times. It was…um, nice."

Why did he hesitate? Alright, she thought. I guess she didn't break his heart. So, what the heck did happen? She knew doggone well he wasn't telling her everything. "What are you going to do today?" And then, because she didn't want to sound too intrusive, she added. "I was about to give my apartment a good cleaning."

"I hooked up with some friends. We're going to hang out today."

Hooked up! He winced, wishing he'd chosen a different expression. He felt like he was digging himself into a hole, and knew he'd better get off the phone. He said, quickly. "You're still picking me up at the airport tomorrow, right?"

"Was I fast enough, Derek?" Vanessa asked, cheerfully, as she came through the door, and he jumped when he heard her. Preoccupied with his phone call, he hadn't realized she'd come in, and he sure as hell hoped that Garcia didn't hear her.

Penelope's fears were confirmed when she heard the female voice, and she had an awful urge to cry. "Yes, I'll be there." She couldn't think of a cute retort and she didn't want to. She just wanted to get off the phone. "Bye."

"Bye."

"I'm sorry. Did I interrupt something?" Vanessa asked, innocently, wondering why he looked so uncomfortable.

"Uh, no, I was just talking to the, uh, computer tech from work. I was making sure she's picking me up at the airport tomorrow."

"Are you sure she isn't more than that," she asked, speculating that Derek may not be as unencumbered as he seems.

Before he had to answer, Morgan gratefully received a reprieve when the bellhop knocked at the door with breakfast.

xxxxx

"Do you want more coffee?" Derek offered, picking up the carafe from the tray that the porter had left on the table.

"Please," she said, meeting his eye as he filled their cups, trying hard to read him. His demeanor had changed since she'd come back to the room. Did it have something to do with the phone call? He was quieter. Sitting at the window table eating breakfast, they chatted, but they spoke like strangers chatting at a bus stop. Finally, she had to ask. She reached out and put her hand on his. "Derek, what's wrong?"

He sat back in his chair and studied her for a time before he answered. God, she was a pretty woman. There was a gentleness about her that reminded him of his mother. Being with her again, he'd put the hurt of how they ended behind him and had only enjoyed the moment. Unfortunately, talking with Penelope snapped him back to actuality. He and Vanessa needed to discuss what happened.

Smiling wistfully, he began." You know, "Nessa. I remember when I'd see you come into church on Sundays with your family. If you sat at a pew ahead of me, I'd watch you during the entire service. I loved your blond hair, the way it fell on your shoulders and bounced when you moved. I'd dream about touching it to see if it was as soft as it looked." He sheepishly admitted. "I had a crush on you long before I met you in the hallway. And when you talked to me that day, I swear to God, my knees got weak. I think I fell in love with you at that moment."

Vanessa looked down and stirred her coffee, embarrassed, but acutely aware that he called her 'Nessa,' just like he used to and that said that he loved her.

"And when you came in and sat with me in the lunch room…Phew!" He shook his head in disbelief. "I was so nervous I could barely swallow?"

"I know that you were shy and I had to do most of the talking. You were wearing your football jersey and I figured you were a jock, so I just kept asking you sports questions."

He laughed. "You mean you weren't really interested in three step drops and timing routes?"

"Not so much." She confessed. "I was trying to get you to talk to me." She took a sip of her drink. "I was afraid you would think I talked too much. My dad used to call me a 'chatterbox.' He believed that women should be seen and not heard and he used to get aggravated with me."

Morgan was still smiling, but his jaw tightened at the mention of her father. "Your dad? Yeah, I remember him. Met him once. He threw me out of his house one evening."

Vanessa was caught off guard by the change in his demeanor. "I'm sorry, Derek."

Okay, he thought, ask what you've wanted to know for two decades. "Tell me, Vanessa. How did you live with that man for eighteen years and not know he was a racist?"

"What? Derek, I-I don't, uh…how do you…?" She was flustered and didn't know what to answer. She knew her father had told him to leave, but she didn't know that Derek knew why. "What did he say to you?"

Damn it, he could remember it like it was yesterday, and he was upset with himself because he could. He'd dealt with racists and bigots all of his life, and he put that shit in its place. What stung so badly about this incident was that it came from the father of the girl he'd actually dared to dream he might have a future with. He shrugged, trying to act as though he wasn't as angry as he was. "He told me you were sick and you couldn't go out. He was fairly polite at first. When I told him I'd just talked to you on the phone, he gave me attitude and told me to leave."

"I'm sorry." She repeated, not knowing what else to say. She looked out the window, ashamed by her father's behavior and unable to meet his gaze. But, why did he ask about racism, if her dad didn't say anything about color? She understood when he continued.

"I was stunned. I didn't know what was going on, so when your old man got nasty, I just left. After I had a few minutes, I called your house from the drug store, but whoever picked up the phone just hung up without saying anything. I thought maybe you were mad at me and you had your dad was making excuses for you. I even thought you might have another boyfriend and you dumped my ass to go out with him. I mean, shit, I didn't know what to think. I had forty bucks worth of flowers I'd bought for you on the front seat, and I decided that at least you should have them, so I drove back to your house. I figured if I gave you your bouquet, maybe I could get you to talk to tell me what was wrong."

Derek slowly ran his finger around the edge of his cup. He'd lost his taste for coffee. Shit was probably cold now anyhow. He pushed it way from him and looked at Vanessa. He hated this conversation, but continued. "When I pulled up out front, I heard your old man hollering at you."

"Oh, Derek." She closed her eyes, suddenly realizing what he must have heard. All of these years, she didn't know he knew.

"Hey, the man was just being a protective father, right?" He mocked. "He wouldn't want his daughter taking up with some 'jigaboo.'"

"Oh my God, Derek, I…" She cringed and started to apologize again, but he didn't give her the opportunity.

"So explain to me again how you lived with the man and didn't know that he was so prejudiced?"

"When my dad worked in the prosecutor's office, he used to deal with the lowest element of society. Derek, you must know what that's like from your job. Well, he'd get frustrated sometimes and he'd spout off and use some, uh, racial names. But Derek, I swear I never knew him to be unkind to anyone because of their race or their nationality. I never dreamed that he would…"

"Got it!" He snapped. "Just because the man called a 'spade' a 'spade," you never thought he'd act on it."

"I'm sorry." She repeated, having no idea what else to say to appease him.

"You know, Vanessa, I just wished I'd had a head's up. If I'd known that your old man was a bigot, who wouldn't think I was good enough for his 'lovely' daughter. it would have been helpful. I wouldn't have made a fool of myself or had my 'tender teenage heart' broken."

He spoke the words 'lovely' and 'tender teenage heart' in a mocking tone of voice with his hand over his heart, but sarcasm didn't hide his genuine hurt over what happened, and she felt awful.

"But you know the worst of it, 'Nessa? Worse than being belittled by your redneck racist father…it was you! I thought I would hear from you. At least we could talk things over and you and I might be all right. But, I never fucking heard from you again," he said, incredulously. "Not a phone call, not a note or a letter, nothing! What was I supposed to think? You never came back to school. I had to hear from your friend, Brenda, that you went to Ohio to live with your aunt. My God, I imagined all sorts of things. I thought you were with someone else. Or, maybe I'd gotten you pregnant and they'd sent you away to have the baby. Even worse, that you decided your dad was right and you shouldn't be with someone like me."

Damn it! He hated that he could be angry about something that happened so long ago, or that it still hurt like a mother. And, he hated that he'd made Vanessa cry.

"Please, Derek, let me explain."


	14. Chapter 14

REUNION

Chapter 14

Morgan took his cup to the sink and rinsed it out. He poured a refill from the carafe and sat down again. He had stepped away for a moment to try to regain his perspective. He knew it was ridiculous to be bitter about something so far in the past, and he consciously softened his tone when he asked. "Is there anything I can get you, 'Nessa?"

Vanessa was dabbing her eyes with a linen napkin from the tray. Even at this awful moment, she was cognizant of how she looked and didn't want Derek to see her with her makeup running. Without looking up, she shook her head, "no."

He stirred some cream into his coffee and took a sip. "Tell me."

Derek heard a couple of little sniffles, and she patted her face and put down the napkin.

She cleared her throat before she spoke. "Derek, you need to understand about my father. He was a controlling, opinionated man, but I swear I never realized he was so prejudiced. Spouting off was one thing but, for heaven's sake, one of his best friends was Judge DeLong. They used to play golf together on Saturdays and I never dreamed..."

"Of course, he's not prejudiced." Derek interrupted, curtly. "Why, some of his best friends are…"

"Please, Derek,"

"Sorry. Go on." Judge Milton DeLong, Derek knew him. He appeared before him once in his teens when he'd gotten in trouble. He was an African-American judge who served on the bench for nearly thirty years. Although he'd been accused of extortion, the allegations were never proven, but he abruptly resigned several years ago.

"My mother was real quiet and old-fashioned. She was raised to believe that the man was the head of the house, period. She rarely spoke up to my father, and he would just shout her down if she tried. My sisters didn't talk back either. Well, you know that wasn't me."

He smiled, slightly. Yeah, the Vanessa he knew had spunk.

"I was the only one who ever challenged him, and I used to get into trouble for it all the time. On prom night, I argued with him until he banished me to my room. That must have been what you overheard. I don't know how long you listened…"

"Not long. I left while your dad was speculating on how a 'nice white woman' like my mother could take up with 'some damned coon.'" He saw Vanessa wince and close her eyes. He was sorry he told her, but he was having a hard time suppressing his rancor. "It was only a minute or two," he said, offhandedly, trying to soften his previous remark. "I put your flowers on the porch and left."

"When I got sent upstairs, I just about went crazy. I wanted to talk to you so badly and explain. I needed to tell you it wasn't me, but he wouldn't even let me use the phone to leave you a message. For a few crazy minutes I entertained this wacky idea that maybe I could knot the bed sheets together, and shimmy down to the ground to go try to find you." She shook her head and laughed at her own absurdity. "I decided I would break my neck, or at least a leg or two. So finally, I sat down and wrote to you. My letter must have been ten loose leaf pages long, both sides. I mean to tell you, I poured out my soul." She felt silly but she admitted. "I even wrote you a love poem. Typical high school, huh? I wasn't sure how I was going to give it to you, but I felt better after I wrote it. I was so sure you were going to hate me."

She noted that Derek was listening carefully and she wondered what he was thinking.

"I always took my birth control around eleven, just before I went to bed. My pills were in my evening bag. I had bought this little purse to match my dress, and it was downstairs on the coffee table. Well, I went down to get it and my dad was sitting in the living room watching the news. He freaked when I came in, and he ordered me back upstairs. When I insisted on getting my purse first, he said I was 'defying' him and he was furious. He snatched the bag out of my hand, and it popped open." She closed her eyes as she remembered. "Everything fell on the carpet and he saw my pill pack."

Derek saw her lip quiver. She was near tears again when she told him. "He picked it up and when he saw what it was, it set him off. He grabbed me by the arm so hard his fingers left bruises. He was so angry. I know he wanted to hit me, but he only shoved me and told me to get the hell out of his sight." She paused. "That was after he called me a 'slut' and a 'whore,' and a few other choice words."

"Where was your mother during all of this?" He was somewhat surprised at the ugliness that went down. Oh, he knew from experience what can happen, even in the nicest of neighborhoods, oft times where you'd least expect it, but he hadn't expected it from Vanessa's family. She never talked much about her home life, but the Fowler's looked like an idyllic family when they used to walk into church together.

"She was there." She replied, sadly. "She didn't say anything. I told you. My mother never spoke up to him. My mom even knew I was using birth control and she was okay with it. All she told me was to make sure I was in love before I gave myself to someone. I didn't rat her out to my dad, though. He would have started yelling at her, and she got enough of that from him."

"I went up to bed but I think the sun was coming up when I finally fell asleep. I slept really late the next day. I just didn't want to wake up. I couldn't deal with any more arguing, and I felt sick about what I'd done to you. Sometime in the afternoon, my dad came slamming into my room, threw a suitcase on the bed, and announced that I was going to live with my Aunt Evelyn. I couldn't believe he would do that. I mean, we barely had five weeks until graduation, and he was taking me out of school. He told me to pack, and he said I was never to see you again."

"You were almost eighteen. If you had wanted to see me, he couldn't have stopped you."

xxxxx

Penelope finished cleaning her living room and with polish and dust cloth in hand, started working in the bedroom. She carefully cleaned the items on her dresser, but when she got to the framed photograph of her and Derek, she paused. It was a picture that Reid snapped at the Christmas party last year of them kissing under the mistletoe. It was one of the happiest nights of her life, but today it was too painful to look at. She dusted it, and then quickly put it face down in the top drawer.

She made her bed with fresh sheets, fluffed the pillows, and put Miss Penelope back on the bed. Miss Penelope, the silly, sweet teddy bear Derek had given her for her birthday. Miss Penelope wore a colorful, outrageous outfit, several strings of beads, 50's retro glasses, and carried a laptop. He had gone to some trouble to have Miss Penelope made, and she'd an honored place on Penelope's bed ever since. Garcia looked at her beloved stuffed animal for a moment and decided that it, too, was too painful to look at. After all, Derek was in Chicago hanging out with Vanessa, doing God knows what with her. How could he, especially after she had worried all week about him getting his heart broken? Well, she would just collect all of the things he had given her and give them back to him at the airport tomorrow. She got a box from the closet and placed Miss Penelope in it. "Damn, man!" She exclaimed in disgust, and went to scrub the bathroom.

xxxxx

Vanessa checked the clock on the nightstand and commented. "The housekeeper is going to be coming in if we don't put the sign out." She gathered the dishes, leaving only the coffee, and took the tray to the door. After placing the tray on the hallway floor, she took the "Do Not Disturb" sign and hung it on the outside knob. When she came back, she sat on the foot of king-sized bed. Looking at her image in the dresser mirror, she said. "I'm a sight today. I should have taken more time with my hair, but I was so anxious to come back. I was excited about spending the day with you." She was quiet for a minute before she admitted the reason she was stalling. "Forgive me. It's hard for me to talk about my dad." She looked down at her hands, as she thought about the man she hated as much as she loved. "In many ways, he was a good father, but he was controlling."

"You've already said that."

"He knew people, important people, and they would do favors for each other. Working in the prosecutor's office, my dad could make things 'go away,' if he was asked. And people would do things for him, too."

"That's not 'controlling.' That's corrupt." Morgan said, contemptuously.

"That's Chicago."

He didn't respond because he knew that what she said was sadly true. Corruption in the city was one of the reasons he felt compelled to leave the police force.

"When my dad drove me to my aunt's that weekend, he told me. 'I know damned well that you're going to try to contact that boy as soon as you're out of my sight, and if you do, you and he are going to be very, very sorry.' He said he would have you arrested for rape and…"

In spite of himself, Derek exploded in his defense. "I never fucking raped you. We were two kids in love, and we were the same age. There wasn't a damn thing I could be charged with. How the hell could you fall for that, Vanessa?"

"You don't understand," she pleaded. "Maybe he couldn't have you charged with rape, but if they picked you up, Derek, they could plant drugs or a weapon on you. They would get you for…something. And I don't know how, but he knew about your criminal record. He said that if I defied him, he would use anything he could against you to make sure you didn't get your scholarship to Northwestern or any other college."

"I had a juvenile record, Vanessa." He protested. "And it was expunged and sealed. I hadn't been in trouble since I was fourteen."

"That didn't matter. I told you. He had connections." Her voice broke. "You know, he even told me he was doing it to 'protect me,' because he 'loved me.'" She leaned forward, covered her face with her hands, and began to sob. "I'm sorry, Derek. I'm so sorry."

He walked the few steps from the table and sat down on the bed beside her. When he put his arm around her, she buried her head in his chest and he felt the wetness from her tears. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "I'm so sorry."


	15. Chapter 15

REUNION

Chapter 15

"You'll have to give me directions from here." Derek told Vanessa as they exited the freeway and turned into Hyde Park.

It was just past noon when they turned onto the quiet cul-de-sac and pulled up in front of the home where Vanessa grew up. The big brick house with the sweeping porch looked shabby compared to the way he remembered it from that night. Still, it was an impressive structure. He could imagine his mother living in a home like this with a yard where she could grow flowers and a nice porch to sit on. For sure, the people on this street were never awakened by the sounds of gunshots.

"The new owners have let the place run down." Vanessa commented, looking though the open car window at her former home. "My dad was always so meticulous about tending to the lawn and keeping the bushes trimmed. He was real big on appearances."

"Yeah," he answered, sourly, but didn't elaborate on what he was thinking. With his experience in remodeling, he could see some work that needed to be done, but it was an elegant, Victorian styled home. It crossed his mind that it would be a good investment property. "When was the last time you were here, "Nessa?"

"It's been almost twelve years. I stayed for a week and helped my mom and sisters empty out the house out after my father's funeral."

"Your mother didn't want to keep the place?"

"Mom just wanted to sell and be done with it. She was living in Florida when my father died. As soon as my youngest sister graduated, she had packed up and moved in with my grandparents. She didn't believe in divorce but she didn't want to be married anymore, either. It was wonderful to see the change in Mom. She was like a different person after she left. She got a job, went back to school, and then later on bought a small place of her own. She even met a new man."

"Is she still living?"

"Yes. She remarried a few years ago."

"How did your father take it when she left him?"

"Not good. He didn't do well with anything he couldn't control. He ranted and raved and threatened, but my mother wasn't having any of it. Finally, he put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger."

"Oh, Vanessa, I'm sorry." He hadn't anticipated that answer. "I didn't realize." Now he knew why his firearm disturbed her.

She shook her head. "It wasn't even like he was despondent. His suicide was…" She paused, groping for the right word. "Angry…vengeful. It was like he wanted to get even with my mom. Besides, he was having some legal problems. Those 'connections' of his got him into trouble, and he was probably going to be disbarred." She took one last look at the old house, and said, sarcastically. "Well, that's enough of this unhappy little trip down memory lane. Let's go."

Derek put the car in gear. "Where do you want to go now?"

"Let's drive over to the high school."

They were pulling off the street when she added. "By the way, my flowers that you left that night? I found them the next afternoon. They weren't even wilted. I still have the one of the roses pressed in my yearbook."

xxxxx

"Another glass, please." Penelope told the waiter. "What about you, Em?"

"No thanks. I'm driving. Remember?" Prentiss took a bite of her chicken penne, sipped her wine, and remarked. "You don't usually drink this much. Are you celebrating something?"

"Life," Garcia replied, finishing the last of her third glass of chardonnay. "I'm celebrating life. Think of it, Em. I'm young and healthy. I have an exciting career with the FBI. My theater group is doing "The Wizard of Oz," and I heard earlier today that I landed the Wicked Witch role. I'll get to wear green makeup, fly on a wire, and melt into the floor at the end. Not the lead role, but the meatiest role. Of course, I'll have to practice my cackle. I made an appointment with Antoine to get my hair cut and dyed. I've decided to go red. I think I'll look like a young Sharon Osborne, don't you? I thoroughly cleaned my apartment this morning and got rid of a lot of junk. There's nothing more satisfying than purging one's self of unnecessary clutter." She turned her attention to the waiter who had just placed another glass in front of her. "Thank you." She took a long drink from the stemmed glass and added. "Oh, and I've lost eleven pounds in the past two months." She lightly dabbed her lips with the napkin. "Life," she concluded, "doesn't get better than this."

Emily Prentiss studied her friend for about five seconds before asking. "Okay, what's wrong?"

Garcia took another drink and said, miserably. "I hate profilers."

xxxxx

As happy as he was being with Vanessa again, Morgan couldn't keep his thoughts from drifting back to Garcia. What would he say when he saw her tomorrow night? He hoped she hadn't heard Vanessa come into his hotel room and that she didn't get the wrong idea. Or, would it be the right idea? He only knew he hadn't intended to hurt her.

He and Vanessa climbed atop bleachers at the stadium of their old alma mater. It was a warm, sunlit day and Putnam High was a hub of activity. Sports teams were practicing on the grounds, and the marching band was rehearsing for a competition in the evening. Vanessa slipped her arm thorough his, and sitting in the familiar surroundings, it almost seemed as though they had stepped back in time.

After awhile, Vanessa said. "It's a shame the main building is locked. I would love to go inside. Do you suppose the heart with our initials is still on the inside of my locker door?" She laughed. "I defaced property for you. You know, it must have been fate that gave us lockers so close together."

"Uh-huh, fate and the twenty dollars I gave Demetrius Anderson to trade lockers with me. My original locker was down by the gym."

"You never told me you did that."

He grinned. "No, I didn't."

Later, when they walked to the parking lot, she noticed the security cameras that had been added since they were students. "That would have been a real hindrance to our sex life," she commented, with an impish smile, gesturing toward a camera.

"Yeah, there's one mounted on the back fence right where Ramone Watson used to park his car for us." He pulled her close and gave her a quick kiss. "Do you want to stop at our old rendezvous spot and make a tape for Vice-principal Davis?" He teased.

"Oh, sure." She said, giggling. God, it was so good being with him again. She'd come to Chicago to make things right with him, but now found herself daring to hope that they might have a future.

When they got into the car, Vanessa turned serious. "Derek, we weren't bad kids, were we? I mean, my own father called me a 'slut' because we were…well, you know, sexually active."

Before he'd met Vanessa, Morgan was shamed by his sexual experiences, until she showed him that sex borne out of love could be sweet, innocent and beautiful. She awakened emotions in him he had never dared to feel. He might have told her that, but he didn't know the right words, so he only replied. "No, we weren't bad kids."

They pulled out of the school and headed to St. Matthew's Church. Vanessa hadn't visited her father's grave since the morning of his funeral, and had asked if they could stop at the cemetery. Derek could see that she was struggling with her feelings about her dad, and for her sake, he was doing his best to put his animosity toward the man aside.

"Do you still go to church, Derek?" Vanessa asked as they stood at the foot of her father's grave. Although the church kept the grass mowed, George Fowler's plot was largely neglected. There were a few weeds around the headstone, and unlike many of the graves, there were no flowers.

"Not very often. Mostly, when I come home to Chicago. My mother likes us all to go to church together."

"Are you still a believer?"

He hesitated before he answered. He'd felt abandoned by God for such a long time. "I don't know." He told her, honestly. "Some of the things I have seen." He said, shaking his head. "It makes me question. You?"

"I go to church with my daughter. I thought she needed some kind of foundation, but I've come to believe a number of things that the church might frown on."

"Like?"

"Karma, reincarnation, the power of the mind…many things. I could even do your astrological chart if you wanted."

"Uh, no thanks. I think life might be a little easier if I don't know what's going to happen next." He remembered that Garcia always read her horoscope, and sometimes read his forcast to him, too. He didn't take it seriously, but he asked Vanessa. "So, are we compatible?"

"You're a Gemini and I'm an Aquarius. We're both air signs and that's good for communication. It is a very harmonious connection."

He couldn't resist the temptation. "We connected pretty well last night, three times."

"Well, of course, we would be sexually compatible, but as air signs, we would want to have sex with someone we had a good rapport with."

"What about Taurus?" He asked, thinking of Penelope. He was pretty sure she was a Taurus.

"Taurus is a warm, loving sign, and they're very loyal people. Sensual, too. They love chocolate, good food, and they tend to gain weight easily, but you couldn't ask for a better friend. Why? Who's a Taurus?"

"Someone at work," he replied and changed the subject. "Let's walk over to my dad's grave," he said, and took her hand. "Reincarnation, eh? Really?"

"Uh-huh. I've read about it extensively, Ian Stevenson, Edgar Cayce. It's an accepted belief in many parts of the world. Even twenty-five percent of the people in this country believe in past lives."

Standing at his father's grave, he said, thoughtfully. "I don't know, 'Nessa. I guess it's a possibility, but I'm having enough trouble with this life." As usual, he didn't pray, but he allowed moments with his father to replay in his mind. He could almost feel Sam's presence with them and hear his deep, hearty laugh. Some days he missed him more than others, and today it was more. He guessed it was because they were hanging around the old neighborhood.

The carefully weeded grave with the flowers planted near the headstone reflected the devotion the Morgan family still felt for Sam, compared to the neglected site where Fowler was buried, and a daughter who hadn't come to pay her respects in more than a decade. After Mass tomorrow morning, his mother, Sarah, and probably Des, would walk back and put new flowers on the grave. His mother would then go to Damien Walter's grave, and put flowers by his headstone, and those of the two unidentified boys. She would do it for Derek because she knew it was important to him that they weren't forgotten. He decided not to visit their graves today himself. He didn't want to make explanations to Vanessa. After a few minutes, he whispered, "I love you, Dad," and he and Vanessa headed back to the car. Seeing that he was affected by the visit, she held his hand a little tighter as they walked.

On the drive back to the highway, they passed the Upward Youth Center, and Vanessa, turning to look at the building, commented. "Oh, that's where you used to go. Isn't it? That man was helping with your scholarship. Wasn't he writing recommendation letters for you?"

"Yeah." He answered, quickly. He really didn't want to talk about the center.

"I read in the newspaper that the guy who ran the place went to jail. He murdered a boy or something. I think it was like four, five years ago. Apparently, he was molesting some of the kids and he killed one of them, I guess to shut him up. I forget all of the details, but I thought of you when I read about it because I was pretty sure he was the guy you knew. You must have heard about it. You know, you're lucky that…" Vanessa stopped abruptly, as she suddenly grasped the awful truth he was never able to tell.

Derek stared straight ahead, eyes on the road. "Where would you like to go now?"


	16. Chapter 16

REUNION

Chapter 16

"Jayge!" Garcia exclaimed, excitedly hugging her friend. Jennifer Jareau stood in the doorway of Penelope's apartment carrying a six pack of wine coolers and a large bag. "I'm so happy you could come."

"The BAU sisters are back together." Emily called out from her comfy spot on the sofa, also delighted to see her former co-worker.

"I would have been here sooner but I had to wait for Will to get home. He and Henry are going to have a boy's night tonight. He's taking Henry to his first movie." JJ replied, as she came inside and put the bottles and the bag on the table. "Wow, I haven't been to a sleepover since college. Whatever made you think of it? Oh, I brought all of my nail stuff and three movies." She added.

"Our Penelope needed a little cheering up." Emily replied, getting up to get a wine cooler. "What flavor did…ooh, peach?" She took one and put the rest in the refrigerator. "There are lemon and pomegranate in the fridge, and we have raspberry wine and a really good white wine. The pizza will be here any minute."

"Penelope does not need cheering up." Garcia said, defensively. "I just thought it would be fun for us to get together. We've hardly seen each other since JJ got her new job." She quickly changed the subject. "How are things at the State Department? I mean, it must be pretty exciting working with all of those VIPs." She took a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table and opened another cooler.

xxxxx

"I'm starved." Vanessa told Derek, as they lay naked on his hotel room bed. Their clothes were strewn about the floor, carelessly tossed in a frantic desire to be intimate. Their love-making had been breathtaking, exhilarating, and utterly exhausting, and Derek would have been happy to drift off to sleep had he not wanted to savor his last precious hours with her.

"Hey, I was going to take you for a nice dinner." He quipped. "But you couldn't wait to come up here and have your way with me."

She snuggled closer to him. "Yeah, I know how I had to drag you up here kicking and screaming."

Chuckling, Derek reached for the phone on the night stand and called down to room service. They ordered salmon dinners and a bottle of wine, and he went to search for his pants.

"Why are you getting dressed?" Vanessa asked, watching him with pleasure as he pulled on his clothes, and appreciating the fact that his body was as toned and muscular as it was during his days as a young athlete.

"Because I'm not greeting the bellhop in the buff. You might want to put something on, too. They were pretty fast with breakfast this morning."

By the time dinner arrived, both were fully dressed and Vanessa's wildly disheveled hair was brushed. While they ate, they looked out on the city. On a Saturday night, the streets were crowded with cars and pedestrians, people who were enjoying the active Chicago night life. There was an aura of sadness in their room, however, knowing that their time together was coming to an end.

"What time did you tell me your flight was tomorrow?" Derek asked, really not wanting to think ahead. He'd just finished his fish and was refilling both of their glasses with pinot noir.

"Two-thirty-five." She sighed. "I wish I hadn't booked such an early flight."

"Right after we check out, I'm going to have to drive you to the airport. After your plane leaves, I'm going down to my mother's. I promised I'd have dinner with the family before I left."

"Where do they think you've been today?"

"Hanging out with some old friends from school, I guess. That's kind of true, isn't it?"

"'Old' friend, huh?" She was kidding, but she was a little sensitive about her age. "Do they know anything about me? I mean, what happened with us."

"My sister, Sarah, does. I didn't talk about you after prom night, so my mom figured we went to the prom and we just broke up not long afterward. I never shared the, uh, unhappy details."

"I'm sorry." She said, looking down. She felt guilty whenever she thought about the way they broke up. As poised and confident as he seemed now, she knew that the sensitive boy she'd first fallen for still existed inside of him and she hated that she'd hurt him.

Derek shrugged. "Stop, we resolved this. No need to rehash it. Let's just enjoy the time we have left."

She repeated. "'The time we have left.' God, that's sounds so final."

"'Nessa, you know it has to be." He told her firmly but gently.

"I know." She finished her glass of wine, and seriously thought about drinking more. Maybe if she got drunk losing him again wouldn't be so painful.

Earlier this evening, they walked along the shore of Lake Michigan at Lincoln Park, passing scores of couples in the perfect setting for lovers. The waning sun created colorful prisms on the water and they paused to watch the sun set. Sitting on a small bench by the water's edge, Vanessa summoned her courage and asked. "Is there any chance for us, Derek?"

He pulled her closer when she asked, but it seemed forever before he replied. At last, "'Nessa, there was a time when I would have given anything…" After another pause, "I'm sorry. I can't."

She might have felt foolish having asked and being rejected, but he seemed sincerely regretful. She was fighting an awful urge to weep when her attention was diverted by a loud voice.

"Derek Morgan! Is that you?" Vanessa could actually feel him cringe when he heard the man calling out to him. He took his arm from around her and turned to face Wally Dennison. "Small f-in' world, heh?" Dennison said, wearing a crooked grin that resembled a sneer.

Derek and Vanessa stood up to greet him and the woman he was with, whom he introduced as his wife, Bernice. Derek recalled how his friend, Darnell, described Dennison's wife when they were in the bar the other night. He called her "mouthy" and "unpleasant," but this woman just stood there, silently eyeing him and Vanessa. He knew that cold look and suspected that she was one of those people who disapproved of interracial relationships. Dennison, on the other hand, looked Vanessa up and down, almost salivating as he assessed her.

"Hey, I want to apologize for talkin' smack on you in the bar. I got a little buzzed. I didn't mean nothin' by it." He told Derek.

"Not a problem, Detective." Derek lied, already fantasizing about pitching him into Lake Michigan.

"Bernice," Dennison addressed his wife. "Morgan works with me down at the youth center when he comes to town. He's originally from Lafayette Street, but he's an FBI agent in Quantico now." He smiled, condescendingly, and said. "Just goes to show you that anyone…"

Morgan didn't know what he was about to say and he didn't care. He only wanted to get away from him before he got pissed. He inhaled deeply to calm his annoyance and said. "Hey, it was nice meeting you, Mrs. Dennison. I'm sorry. Vanessa and I were on our way to catch a movie." He took her hand and, hurriedly, led her away. "Don't ask." He told her before she could, and they headed down the walkway.

When they got into the parking lot, Derek explained, knowing that he had been rude. "I'm sorry for rushing you away like that. I didn't want to get into a discussion with Dennison." He started the engine and turned to her, telling her as much of the story as he could. "After the man who ran the youth center got arrested, some of us got together and started a committee of neighborhood people to manage it. We recruited volunteers to run the programs. I work at the center when I get into town. Dennison is one of the coaches. Guy's a jerk, but he's good with the kids. He just has a problem with me."

"Why?" She couldn't imagine anyone who wouldn't like Derek, at least until she thought of her father, but she understood that Dennison's reference to Lafayette Street was intended to be demeaning. Anyone who was familiar with the city knew it was a poor neighborhood.

"Jealous, I guess. I'm FBI and he hasn't advanced on the police force. I had a beer with some of the coaches a couple of nights ago. Dennison got obnoxious, and we almost got into it. I just didn't want to deal with the bullshit tonight."

"What's his wife's problem? Why was she giving us the 'evil eye'?"

"If I read that icy stare correctly, she doesn't approve of black-white relationships."

It was twilight when he backed out of his parking slot. "Where do you want to go for dinner?"

"Let's just go back to the hotel, if you don't mind. I'd rather be alone with you."

It was hard for Vanessa to imagine the obstacles Derek must have had to overcome in his life, poverty, racism, his father's murder, the sexual abuse she believed he suffered, and probably more that she didn't know about. He hadn't had an easy life. She felt bad for him, but he was proud and she would never dare to let him know that. By comparison, her life had been one of privilege. They were so different, and yet she felt so connected to him.

When the bellhop knocked at the hotel room door to collect the dinner tray, Vanessa's thoughts snapped back to the moment.

xxxxx

Five minutes after the end of the movie, Penelope was still crying. JJ took "Somewhere in Time" out of the DVD player and put it back in the case. "I'm sorry I brought this one, Pen. I never thought it would affect you like this."

"No, it's a wunnerful film. I don' mean to be so 'moshunal." She slurred, wiping her eyes on a napkin. Penelope got up from the chair where she'd been sitting and swayed slightly. She caught the arm of the sofa for balance.

"Where are you going?" Emily asked, concerned. She'd never seen Garcia drink as much as she had today. She suggested they have a get together tonight, hoping she'd open up to her and JJ about whatever was troubling her, but so far she hadn't.

"I'm gettin' another pomagranny…um, a pomagree…a wine thingy…cooler."

"I'll get it. Sit back down." Emily told her and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Jayge, I'm sorry" She said, dabbing at her eyes again. "It wuz jus' so sad. Do you thin' it can really be like that? Like soul mates yer jus' s'pposed to be wifth?"

Emily came back into the room carrying a glass. "Here, Pen."

Penelope took a drink and made a face. "Whaz this?"

"Ice water. You've had enough alcohol. Here. Hydrate or you're going to have a wicked headache in the morning."

"I don' care." But, she took a sip of the water.

"Don't you have to pick Morgan up at the airport tomorrow? You wouldn't want to meet him with a hangover, all red eyed and bloated." Emily told her.

"Where's Derek been?" JJ asked. Now that she was out of the BAU office, she wasn't up-to-date on what was going on with her old friends.

"Shickago. He wen' to his twenny year reunin.'" She took another drink of water but hated it.

"Is that a problem?" JJ said, innocently.

Her heart ached and she couldn't hold it in any longer. Like a dam had broken, Penelope's story came pouring out. Rambling and occasionally garbled, she told her friends about the girl who broke Derek's heart in high school, and how she'd worried about him seeing her again. "But he still had feelin's fer her an' I thought he shud." She had tears streaming from her eyes when she admitted. "An' then when I talked to him this mornin,' he sounded all funny, guilly like, an' then I heard a woman an' I knew it wuz her, an' then I got scared I wuz gonna lose him." She took another napkin from the pile next to the pizza box on the coffee table, wiped her eyes, and loudly blew her nose. "Oh," she added. "An' did I menshun that she's drop dead gorjus an' like a size five?"

JJ and Emily glanced at each other. Of course, it was man trouble! They should have known. They just hadn't expected it from Derek.

"Penelope," JJ said, gently. "You don't have to be thin to have someone love you."


	17. Chapter 17

REUNION

Chapter 17

"And they lived happily ever after," Derek said, sleepily, trying to pretend that he'd seen the movie.

"What?" Vanessa wiped a tear from her cheek as the credits began to roll, touched by the romantic ending to the film.

"Matt Damon and the French chick." Derek sat up and stretched. "They lived happily every after, right? They were like, uh, soul mates or something." He had been lying across the small sofa in their room, his head in Vanessa's lap. They had rented "Hereafter" on the hotel's entertainment system, and shortly after the film began, Derek fell asleep.

"You were sleeping ten minutes into the film."

"No, I wasn't." He lied, sheepishly, getting up to get something to drink from the room's small refrigerator. "Do you want anything?" He asked, opening a bottle of water.

"Yes." She took a bottle from him and opened it. "Okay, if you saw the movie, what happened?" She challenged.

"Uh, there was a tsunami, and the French girl drowned, and, uh…The special effects were phenomenal, very realistic. I saw that part and, um…" He sat down on the sofa beside her and admitted. "Okay, I don't know what happened after they fished the girl out of the water. It was the damned subtitles. Having to read subtitles always puts me to sleep."

"Okay, I'll admit it was a little slow moving, but it was very profound. Tell me, what did you get about soul mates?"

"Aren't they two people who are destined to be together, like Damon and the French girl?" He put his arm around her again and she leaned her head against him. Being with Vanessa seemed as natural as breathing. He would miss her, and for an instant, he wondered if he'd made a mistake when he told her they didn't have a future.

"Not exactly. A soul mate is someone you knew in a previous life that you are drawn to again in this life."

All day she had talked to him about things he'd never thought about before, destiny and karma. She'd read his aura. There was red in his aura, she told him, the color of strength and passion. On the drive back to the hotel, she asked him if he ever felt his father's presence around him.

"Yes, I do." He confessed, but he felt strange admitting it.

"It's not your imagination." She assured him. "I'm sure he's with you all of the time."

It was comforting to think she could be right. He wanted to believe it. At low points in his life, he'd talk to his father almost like a prayer, sorting out his thoughts and looking for guidance. God may have let him down, but he wanted to think he still had his father watching out for him.

"Okay, how do you know when you meet one of these other life people?" He was skeptical but intrigued.

"You know them from their eyes, from the instant rapport. You'll have the general sense that you have always known them. From the beginning, you can communicate with them like you would an old friend because in reality that's what they are. Haven't you met people you've felt that way about?"

Damn, the woman said some odd things. Vanessa was either very enlightened or just plain crazy, but he answered her honestly. "Two, you and…" He hesitated to tell her.

She anticipated the answer. "Your Taurus?"

"Who?"

"You asked me earlier about the Taurus personality. The woman in your life now is a Taurus, isn't she? Was she born in May?"

"Yes."

His relationship with Penelope was complex. He didn't know how to explain it to Vanessa, and he didn't. But, she was right about one thing. From the first day he'd met Garcia in the bullpen, there was something he immediately liked about her. When he spoke to her, she turned to answer him and for an instant he wondered if he'd met her before. He was touched by the demure smile she gave him when he referred to her as "Baby Girl." And, like Vanessa suggested, there was something abut her eyes. He'd felt something similar for Vanessa that first day they spoke in the hallway at Putnam. She was familiar, something in her eyes.

The conversation was making him uneasy, and he changed the subject. "Do you want to rent another movie?"

xxxxx

Garcia sat on her overstuffed couch with the gaudy floral slipcovers and bulky throw pillows, sipping iced water. Emily was beside her, and JJ sat on a large cushion the floor. She was listening to her friends' advice on Derek. She was a little less tipsy and greatly relieved that she had confided her problems to them.

"Penelope, I know Derek. He's a good guy. Heck, I trust him with my life out in the field." Emily told her. "I can't say that he's not with his old girlfriend right now, but I think you're instincts were right about encouraging him to see her. If he's been thinking about her for all of these years, he needs to resolve his feelings before he can move forward. You don't want him to have any doubts about the two of you, do you?"

"No." Garcia shook her head and asked, sadly. "But what iff…?" She still spoke thickly.

"Then you need to know it." JJ added, sternly. "But Pen, I have faith in him, too. Remember when you were shot? That poor man was beside himself. He couldn't concentrate. I don't think he ate or slept the whole time you were in the hospital. He couldn't think of anything but you. And when you were being released, he insisted that he was going to be the one to bring you home."

"And he stayed with you and protected you until the man was shot." Emily added.

Penelope smiled a little. "Schlept right here on the sofa." She said, patting it.

"I know that even when we're having the most awful days out in the field, I see Derek on the phone with you and then I'll see his mood change. I think he gets peace of mind from talking to you." Em continued.

"He tol' me someshing like that once." She was thinking of the terrible night in New York with the bomb.

JJ picked up the conversation, saying. "I remember the Monday before your birthday last year, when I was still at the BAU. Derek came into my office carrying this huge bag. Inside was that silly teddy bear he gave you with the glasses and the beads." She laughed. "He was so worried about whether or not you were going to like it."

"Mish Penelope. I loved Mish Penelope." She smiled again.

Emily continued his defense. "Do you know that there are at least a half a dozen women, just on our floor, who would date Derek in a heartbeat if he'd give them the chance? Even that new agent the guys are falling all over themselves to talk to, that uh…Monica, I think her name is."

"Moneek." Garcia corrected her.

"Monique." Emily repeated. "She comes in ten minutes early, grabs a cup of coffee, and goes over by the elevator so she can stand there trying to look casual when Derek comes up, just hoping he'll talk to her."

Penelope frowned. "He duss talk to her."

Emily wished she had picked a different example. "Okay, but where is he when he has a night off?"

"At the gym." Penelope frowned again.

Emily sighed. "Uh, okay, the nights when he's not at the gym? How many evenings have I seen him up in his office with you watching DVDs? He's not out with Monique, or anybody. He's with you."

"We washed 'The L'il Flockers…Fockners' las' week."

"Penelope," JJ continued. "We can't promise that there's nothing going on with Derek and his old girlfriend, but we've seen his devotion to you. Don't jump to any conclusions. You'll be seeing him tomorrow. See what he has to say. See how he acts. You may have been worrying for nothing."

Garcia thought things over for a minute, and started to get up from the sofa. "I haff to get sumthin' out of my car."

"Whoa! What?" Emily asked, knowing her friend was way too fuddled to be walking around outside. "Sit back down. I'll get it for you."

"When I wuss cleaning this s'mornin', I put sum stuff in a box I wuss gonna donate to char'tee an' I assidently put Mish P'nelope in the box. I have ta' go get her."

"Where are your car keys? I'll go get her." Em asked, looking about.

"I'll going to brew a pot of coffee." JJ said, and she headed into the kitchen.


	18. Chapter 18

REUNION

Chapter 18

Morgan leaned against the headrest and looked out at the city lights as his plane ascended. Once again, coming home to Chicago had been bittersweet. The joy of seeing family was overshadowed by his concerns about Desiree and Fran, the resurfacing of his painful memories, and tonight, a terrible sense of loss over leaving Vanessa.

Earlier, when Fran cooked his good-bye dinner, she seemed unusually tired to him, not that she would ever complain. All of her life she seemed to have a reserve of strength that she could call upon when she needed it, even at the worst of times. But, she wasn't getting any younger and the drama with Des and Curtis had taken a toll on her. Her sprained wrist was still wrapped and he saw her rubbing it a couple of times. She insisted she was "just fine" when he inquired as to how she was feeling and she went about her work, softly singing to herself, and happy to be doing for her family. She did allow her daughters to take over the cleanup, and seemed grateful for the opportunity to sit down to drink a cup of coffee with Derek. Seated with her on the faded brown sofa, the same one that had been in the house since he was a boy, he decided to try one last time.

"Would I be wasting my breath by asking you again to move to Virginia with me? Ma, I could make everything so nice for you."

Fran gave him an indulgent smile. "I have the most beautiful house on the street after all the hard work you did this week. Now, how could I leave here?" She patted him on the knee. "Your father would be proud of you, Derek. You're so good to me, but Honey, you know this is my life."

He sighed with bewilderment. Yes, he was wasting his breath. It was this home where she'd spent her happy years with his father that was the source of her strength. Well, wherever big Sam is he'd better be looking out for her, because he couldn't. Fran made it impossible.

The lights of the city were fading from view. Thoughtfully, Derek looked into the darkness, wishing he could talk to his father about the things that were weighing heavily on him.

Just before he was left for the airport, he took Sarah aside. "Keep an eye on Mom, Sis. She seems a little 'off' to me."

"She's worried about Des. She found out that Curtis called again yesterday and Des gave in and talked to him. He's giving her that bullshit about how he 'loves her' and wants to change."

"Damn." Derek rolled his eyes in disgust.

"I tried to call you to talk to you about it yesterday, but you turned off your phone. I'm guessing that while I was stressin' about you getting your heart handed to you, you and the old G-friend made up. Right?" She paused, expecting him to say something about what happened, but he didn't. "Besides," she continued. "Momma always gets worried when you're leaving. She'll never tell you but she frets something terrible about your work being dangerous."

"Yeah, being a beat cop in Chicago was so much safer." He quipped, sarcastically.

"Daddy never made the national news by driving an exploding bomb into a park. Gives a mother cause to worry, don't ya think?"

"My name never should have been mentioned in the news. It was a breech of security. Anyhow, I never took a damned bullet between the eyes during a robbery." He said, annoyed that she was making him feel guilty about his job and that she had been fishing for information about Vanessa. He took a deep breath. He and Sarah had always been so close, yet he had been testy with her ever since he came home. "I'm sorry, Sis." He relented, giving her a long hug. "Take care of things, and keep Des going to that damned support group. I'll be home for Thanksgiving weekend. Call if you need me before then." And as an afterthought, "oh, and make Des change her phone number tomorrow."

Derek closed his eyes, lulled by the soft hum of the jet's engines. He'd love to take a nap with the three hour flight ahead of him, but too many thoughts were swirling in his mind. He yawned, and as much as he could in the small seat, he stretched. How in the hell could he be this worn out after a week's vacation? He mused, but he already knew the answer. He'd missed a lot of sleep in the past two nights banging the shit out of Vanessa, and this morning they were awake and talking until almost sunup.

"Banging Vanessa." He didn't mean to be so irreverent and cheapen their relationship. She wasn't some 'honey' he met in a club and took home to scratch his itch. His passion for her was borne out of genuine caring. He was just upset with himself for betraying Penelope, and he knew he would have to face her soon.

He loved Vanessa. He understood now that he must have all of these years. If her redneck, bigoted father hadn't interfered, they might still be together. Yesterday, when he told her that they had no future, it was one of the hardest things he had ever done, and he'd questioned his decision from the moment he said it. But he loved Garcia, too. He remembered the terrible feeling of desolation he had when she got shot and he faced the prospect of life without her. Just as his mother derived her security from her home, Morgan's security came from a calm, sweet voice that could uplift his soul, even at the darkest moments. When he tried to imagine looking into Penelope's dear face and telling her that there was someone else, he knew he could never do it.

Shit, he thought, yawning again. Maybe he should just move to some remote island and give up women. Or, he could join some polygamous cult and marry them both. For a luscious moment, the vision of being in bed with Penelope and Vanessa on each side of him flashed in his mind and it made him smile. He was still flowing with the fantasy when he drifted off to sleep.

xxxxx

Vanessa carefully hung her pricy blue dress in her bedroom closet, and then tossed the laundry from her overnight bag into the hamper. Earlier, she'd picked up Kelly from her grandmother's and the two of them stopped at Denny's, Kelly's favorite eatery, for a quick supper. "So, how was it, Mom? Did you see your guy?" Her daughter inquired, while she dipped her French fries one by one into the puddle of catsup on her plate and popped them into her mouth.

"Yes, I saw him. We had a nice time together." Vanessa stated, nonchalantly, not really comfortable answering questions about the weekend.

"Pictures?" Kelly asked between bites.

"Yeah, I took a few." She took her cell phone from her purse, and clicked to a photo of her and Derek at the reunion dinner on Friday night.

"That's us sitting at the table in the ballroom." She clicked the phone again. "I had one of the women at our table take this one of us dancing." Another click, "and here he is standing with Ramon Watson. Ramon and he were on the high school football team together."

Kelly took the phone looked through the pictures. "Mom, he's friggin' gorgeous." She ate her last fry and asked. "So, did you guys hook-up?"

"Kelly!"

"Oh, c'mon, Mom. You didn't fly all the way to Chicago just to dance with the guy, did you? I mean, you're free. He's free. Duh! Consenting adults."

"Kelly, really!" Vanessa slipped her phone back into her purse and told her daughter, firmly. "We were together at the party, and on Saturday we drove around the old neighborhood and talked. There was nothing more to it than that."

"Uh, huh." Her daughter's eyes twinkled mischievously, certain that her mother was omitting part of the story. "Soooo, when are you going to see him again?"

"I don't know." She said, quickly, and changed the subject. "Did you get your science report finished while you were at Grandma's?"

When they got home, Vanessa read through her daughter's report on Endangered Species, and was impressed. She'd done an excellent job, complete with some colorful illustrations, and she was sure Kelly would get a good grade. Kelly was bright student who nearly always made the Principal's List. Her mother only needed to give her a little encouragement from time to time to keep her focused, since Kelly was becoming increasingly interested in the opposite sex.

After Kelly went to bed, Vanessa brewed a cup of blueberry tea, and sat down at the dining room table. There was a concealed drawer at the end of the table where Vanessa kept her journal. She had been keeping journals for years. She first began writing after she lost Derek, as a way of coping with her feelings. Diaries chronicled her life from the time she went to live with her Aunt Evelyn to date. As she became more spiritual, they largely evolved into prayer journals. She felt it was a way to connect with God. She picked up her pen, and began tonight's entry.

"Thank you, God, for my time with Derek and the happiness you brought into my life through him. Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to make amends for the pain I'd caused him, and for healing our relationship. Please assuage the heartache he's had in his life and bring him peace and contentment. Keep him safely in your sight and protect him while he does his dangerous work." She took a drink of tea, and paused before she wrote. "And God, if it be your will, bring my Derek back to me. Amen."

xxxxx

Garcia plopped two tablets into a glass of water and listened to the deafening sound of them sizzling. When they were dissolved, she swallowed the salty liquid in three gulps, hoping it would be less yucky if she got it down quickly. She emitted a long belch, glad that no one was there to hear it.

She studied her image in the mirror over the bathroom sink. She'd fastidiously done her hair and makeup, wanting to look nice for him. Okay, not too bad, she thought as she evaluated herself, except for her swollen, bloodshot eyes. She took her dark glasses out of her bag and exchanged them for her regular specs, and then checked her reflection again. Better. Maybe he won't guess that she's suffering from a lousy hangover.

The DC Beltway was busy, even at ten o'clock on a Sunday night. Penelope skillfully navigated the traffic, impatient to get to her exit. She was nervous but excited about seeing him. Derek Morgan may be an ace profiler, but she could profile him in an instant. Whether it was the way he carried himself or a slight inflection in his voice, she always knew what he was feeling, and she knew darned well when she talked to him on the phone that he was guilty. No matter how much Emily and JJ had tried to reassure her, she was certain something wasn't right. Well, she was all done agonizing over it. She'd cried her heart out, tried to drink her pain away, and spent all day suffering with a rotten headache. She was done! Maybe she was going to lose Derek, but she was going down swinging. That's why she spent so much time on her appearance tonight. She might not be a willowy blond with big, blue eyes, but she could compete with the best of them. How many times had Derek told her she was beautiful? She'd caught him looking at her cleavage lots of times, too. He liked her voluptuous figure. She decided was going to meet him headlong, and just come right out and ask. "Do you want Vanessa? If so, I won't stand in your way, Derek. I just want you to be happy, but I expect you to be honest and come out and tell me…"

Garcia pulled into a parking slot and turned off the ignition, realizing that she had been talking out loud to herself all the way up the freeway. She glanced at her Hello Kitty watch with the shiny pink band. His flight should be in right about now. She exchanged the regular glasses she had been wearing to drive for her sunglasses, put her keys in her patent leather purse, and headed quickly toward the door. With her dark glasses on, she missed seeing a small seam in the pavement and she tripped.

A man standing nearby assisted her to her feet. "Are you okay, Ma'am?" He asked her, kindly. He was an older man with snow white hair, who looked genuinely concerned. "You're bleeding."

"Yes, I'm fine." She replied, shakily, and looked down at her scraped knee. "It's nothing. I'll go in the Ladies Room and clean up a little. She was embarrassed by her clumsiness and was anxious to escape inside. "Thank you." She said again, and limping slightly, she hurried through the doors into the building.

She went to the spot where she and Derek had agreed to meet. Glancing around, she didn't see him, so she made a quick stop in the nearby restroom. She dabbed her knee with a wet paper towel, and wiped the blood that had trickled down her leg. She felt ridiculous. She hadn't had a skinned knee since she was a little girl, and here she was, bloody and with a ripped stocking, on a night when she was trying to look her best. Her fall had mussed up her hair, too, she noted, and she touched it up as best she could. Looking at her bedraggled self in the mirror, she almost lost her resolve, but her inner voice told her to hold her head up, and not to worry about it. After all of the years you and Derek have been friends and all the experiences you've shared, it shouldn't come down to how your hair looks or if you ripped your dang stockings. Penelope, girl, he either loves you or he doesn't. Now go and meet your man, she told herself. Walking out of the restroom, she realized she had been talking to herself again. No wonder the woman washing her hands at the sink next to her had given her such an odd look.

She went back to the waiting area where they'd planned to meet. Where is he? The flight landed awhile ago She looked at her watch again and took a seat. The longer she waited, the more she began to worry. Maybe he didn't come back? Suppose he's still with Vanessa? Perhaps, he's decided not to come back at all. So preoccupied with her concerns, she was startled when the male voice behind her said. "There you are, Baby Girl. I've been looking all over for you."


	19. Chapter 19

REUNION

Chapter 19

Penelope turned to see Morgan behind her, luggage in hand, and smiling broadly. "I thought you'd forgotten me." He joked, as Penelope stood up to greet him. He laid the garment bag he was carrying on the seat beside her and gave her a long embrace. "God, I've missed you." He said, warmly, and he stepped back to look at her. "Pen, why are you wearing dark glasses at night?"

Being in Derek's arms was always the most splendid feeling. It made her feel impervious to the slings and arrows of life, as though nothing could ever harm her. She wished their embrace could go on forever, but she stood back and answered. "Um, the lights in here seemed a little bright."

He looked at her oddly, sensing that something was amiss, and then he noticed her scraped knee. "Baby, what happened to your leg? Did you fall?"

"Yes." Darn it, she'd hoped he wouldn't notice. "I was rushing and I tripped outside. I'll put some antiseptic on it when I get home."

"Make sure you do." He admonished, picking up his bags again. "C'mon. We'd better get moving. With any luck we can be in bed and asleep before midnight."

When they reached Garcia's vintage convertible, she pulled her keys out of her purse and handed them to him. "You drive," she told him, "if you don't mind. I've got a nasty headache."

He took the keys from her, and opened the locks. He put his luggage in the trunk and got inside. Glancing at Penelope, he remarked. "You've still got dark glasses on, Babe."

"Oh." She quickly put them in her purse, and replaced them with her usual glasses.

She wanted to talk to him. She was anxious to know about Vanessa, but he seemed so normal. He was acting like her Derek. He hugged her like her Derek. Had she blown things out of proportion? No! No, she definitely didn't! She did hear Vanessa in the background when he was on the phone, and he did sound darned awful guilty. Her instincts were right. Okay, she told herself, so figure out how to approach him about it. She cleared her throat, gathered her thoughts and began "Derek, did you, uh…"

There was an all night donut shop with a drive-thru window near their onramp. "Do you want to get a smoothie, Baby?" He interrupted. "I'm starved. My mom made an early dinner." He pulled up to the menu board. "Of course, you can order anything you want. I just don't want something heavy this late."

"No, I don't want anything. My stomach's a little queasy." Her Alka-Seltzer was wearing off and her headache was getting worse. It may have partly been the stress of worrying about what he was going to tell her, but she generally felt icky. All right, it might be better if she waited to ask about "her." She wasn't up for hearing any bad news right now. If he was going to drop a bombshell on her, she could probably take it easier when she felt better. She decided would invite Derek to have lunch with her in her office tomorrow, and she could talk with him then.

Derek ordered a small banana smoothie. Before he pulled back out on the highway, he studied her for a moment, and asked with concern. "Baby, are you all right? You look a little funny. Are you sick? I'm sorry I made you come out. I should have taken a taxi, or had Rossi to pick me up." He took a drink, and placed it in the cup holder. "Was it your fall?"

"No. I'm okay. I told you. I just have a headache. I'm fine."

Ordinarily, she loved bananas, but she could smell the fruit in his drink and it sickened her. She cracked her window open and leaned her head back against the seat. "Tell me about your trip. Are your mom and Des doing better?"

Penelope listened as he updated her on his family. She was amused when he talked about his mother and described her as a "worrier," not realizing that he was the same way. It was one of the reasons she loved him, the way he worried and cared so much about everyone. She was glad to let him do the talking. She only wished he would finish his drink. The banana smell was killing her. She opened her window a little wider to let in more of the cool night air. Damn, she'd be happy to get home. She was going to plop a couple more tablets in some water, swallow that crummy liquid, and get back into bed. It was yucky but it had helped. And, for sure, she was never, ever again going to drink like she did last night.

She wanted to keep him talking so she wouldn't have to and she asked. "What about your buddy, Dennison? Did you see any more of him?"

The mention of Wally Dennison pushed a button with Derek. He took another drink of his nasty smelling banana thing, and replied with disgust. "Yeah, 'Nessa and I ran into him and his wife when we were at the park. We, uh…" He stopped in mid–sentence, suddenly realizing what he'd revealed. He had intended to talk to her about Vanessa, but not blurt it out like he did. He heard Penelope gasp, and thought it was because he'd mentioned Vanessa. He glanced at her, and saw that she was sitting upright with her hand over her mouth.

"Derek…" She croaked, barely having time to tell him to pull over. Fortunately, they were already in the right hand lane. He put on his turn signal and pulled as far off the road as he could into a construction area that was closed down for the night. He put on his flashers, as he heard Garcia unhook her seat belt and open the car door.

Her stomach came up in a gush, and for a horrible minute, everything spun around her. When the awful spell had passed, Derek handed her some tissues from the glove compartment. "Here, Baby." He said, kindly.

She blew her nose, and dropped the tissues onto the mess on the pavement. Totally and utterly humiliated, she closed the car door. She took some more tissues from the box, and dabbed at the tears that were streaming down her cheeks.

"Penelope, are you in pain?" He sounded alarmed. "Should I take you to the emergency room?" Morgan was generally smooth with women, but the one thing that turned him to mush was when they cried. For the second time in as many days, he was confronted with a woman whom he cared deeply about, weeping. He was at a loss for words. "Pen?" He questioned, helplessly.

She wiped her nose and dabbed her eyes, and admitted, miserably. "I'm not sick, Derek. I'm hung over." She couldn't remember another moment in her life when she'd felt so embarrassed.

Derek was incredulous. "Hung over?" He was relieved that she wasn't seriously ill, but in spite of himself, he smiled. "Baby, you don't drink that much. Were you celebrating something?"

"No." She blew her nose again, and got another tissue. "When I talked to you on the phone yesterday, you sounded funny, and then I heard Vanessa in the background. I'd worried all week that she was going to hurt you, and then, you were with her. I felt like such a fool. I figured you and she must have made up, and maybe you wouldn't want me anymore."

"So you got drunk?"

"Nooo." God, she wished she didn't have to explain all of this. She didn't feel good. "I had lunch with Emily yesterday. She saw I was depressed, so she suggested we have a sleepover at my house. She thought it would cheer me up. Well, we bought some wine, and some wine coolers, and I'd already had some wine with lunch. We got some snacks and pizza, and we invited JJ over. She came and she brought DVDs, and some more wine." Still crying, Garcia took another tissue. "Oh, and I think we had some champagne."

He knew she wasn't much of a drinker. He's seen her get giggly after two drinks, and downright tipsy after three. He might have been amused by her drinking experience, if he didn't feel like such a heel. "I'm sorry, Baby Girl. I didn't mean to get you upset."

Penelope's car had old style bench seats, and he pulled her close to him. With her head against his shoulder, she was calmer as she went on. "I tried really hard to look nice for you tonight. I had to wear dark glasses so you wouldn't see my eyes are all puffy and bloodshot. I couldn't see that well going into the airport, and I tripped on something. That's how I skinned up my knee and tore my stockings." He heard her voice break. "I wanted to be at my best for you and, instead, you got my worst."

"Pen." Before he could say more, she continued.

"And I wish you would finish that damn banana drink of yours, because the smell is really bothering me."

Not wanting a repeat of a few minutes ago, he quickly pitched his half finished smoothie out the window. "Buckle up, Baby Girl. I'm taking you home." He pulled back out on the highway and told her. "Your house is the closest. I'll drop you off, so you can go right to bed and I'll take your car home. If you're going in to work in the morning, I'll pick you up. If not, we'll exchange cars later on."

They traversed the few miles to her home in silence. When he got to her condo, he pulled into the closest slot to the door. "Thank you." She said, sullenly, starting to get out of the car. "I'll call you in the morning."

"I'm walking you upstairs." He told her matter-of-factly, and he walked with her into the building and up the steps to her condo. He unlocked her door and stepped aside for her to enter. She started to thank him again, but he followed her in. "Come into the bathroom with me." He put the seat down on the toilet and motioned for her to sit. He pulled off her stocking, and he cleaned the wound on her knee. He applied cream and a bandage. He saw the box of Alka-seltzer on her sink. He rinsed out her glass and put two of the tablets into water. "Here. It really helps a hang-over."

"I know." She drank it slowly, her stomach being a little more delicate this time, and burped, noisily. She might have felt self-conscious about it, but she'd already vomited in front of him. How could it get any worse? Derek helped her undress and put on a sleep tee with Tweety Bird on the front. He pulled up her covers when she got into bed.

"How's your stomach? Do I need to get anything…in case?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm good, as long as I don't have to smell bananas."

She was so pitiful, he couldn't help smiling again. "Pen," he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I was going to talk to you about Vanessa. I just didn't know how."

Oh God, oh God, this is it, her aching brain thought wildly. Here it comes.

"I'm not going to lie. I spent the weekend with Vanessa. But, Penelope, she's gone back to her world." He took her hand. "And I've come back to mine." He stood up, and kissed her on the forehead. "We'll talk some more tomorrow. Good-night, Baby Girl."

"'Night." She listened as Derek let himself out, went down the steps, and closed the heavy front door of her building. She heard her car start, and heard the fading sound of him driving away. She sighed, deeply. Her Derek was back.


	20. Chapter 20

REUNION

Chapter 20

Morgan entered through the back door. A small light in the hood of his range was lighted, and he could see there was a stack of mail Mrs. Perez had placed on the table. He put down his luggage, and switched on the overhead light. There was the faint aroma of lemon and he knew that she had just cleaned. She always used lemon scented cleaner in the kitchen. He sat down to browse through his mail. On the top of the pile was a post-it note that made him smile. "Welcome back. I made flans today. One is the fridge for you. Maya."

Maya Perez lived in a small rancher a stone's throw down the street. Derek had become friendly with the family since he moved into the neighborhood. Maya was struggling to keep her home and take care of her young daughters on a widow's pension and a part-time job. Her husband, Emilio, had been killed in Afghanistan late last year. When she was looking to earn extra money, Morgan hired her to clean for him. He overpaid her and she knew it, but he never wanted her to feel badly about taking his money. "I wouldn't know what to do without you." He often told the young woman to preserve her pride. She would look down and smile, shyly. "Thank you, Agent Derek," as she always referred to him. Her soft-spoken, gracious manner reminded him of his mother, as did the strength and determination she showed in providing for her girls without a husband. Whenever she baked, she would repay his kindness by bringing something for him, like the flan in his refrigerator tonight.

Good, there was nothing in the mail that needed to be tended to right away. He took his bags upstairs and hung his suit in the closet. The rest of the unpacking would wait. He took off his black leather jacket and draped it over the chair. He unbuckled his holsters and placed them in the drawer of his nightstand. Changing quickly into pajama bottoms, he was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

When Garcia called, it was five minutes ahead of his alarm.

"Hello." He said, groggily.

"Good morning, Sugar Buns." Penelope said, cheerfully. "I wanted to let you know to pick me up this morning."

He had to think for a moment what she was talking about. Oh, that's right. He had her car. He cleared his throat and replied, as he glanced at the clock by the bed. "Right. I'll be there in about forty minutes."

"I'll be ready." She sounded nervous when she added. "I, uh, wanted to ask you to have lunch with me today in my office. I can make chicken wraps. I have this new recipe, and I, uh, thought since we haven't seen each other…well, except for last night…but that was a big bust." She cringed just thinking of it. "And I was going to make some…"

He interrupted. "Baby Girl, whatever you make will be fine. Have you had your coffee yet? I'll drive through Starbucks on my way."

He was showered and ready to leave twenty minutes later. When he put on his jacket, he felt in the pockets for Penelope's keys and found the envelope Vanessa had handed him as she was leaving. He had forgotten all about it.

Yesterday, he had waited at the airport with her. Tightly holding hands, their wordless final minutes were painful. When the boarding call was made, Vanessa stood up and took something from her purse.

"What's this?" He questioned, taking the thick, sealed envelope from her.

She smiled. "Do you remember me telling you that I wrote you a long letter on prom night?"

"Yes."

"I've waited a long time to give it to you. It's a bit 'school girl,' but it says what I feel."

Derek slipped it into his pocket. He took Vanessa in his arms for the last time. Everything in him wanted to say the words, but he knew he didn't dare. In fact, he could barely say much of anything with the lump in his throat. The man, who had become so practiced in concealing his emotions, was close to tears. Ironic that the last woman he cried over was Vanessa.

"You know, Derek, they have these class reunions every year. You don't have to wait twenty years to come to one."

"Nessa." His voice was husky. "I can't…"

"Sssh." She put her fingers to his lips to stop him from saying more. "Don't say 'no,' Derek. Say 'maybe.'"

Hesitating, he took a long breath. Damn, the woman had the most bewitching eyes. Interesting the way they varied in color, from turquoise to deep cobalt. Sometimes, like now, he could almost swear they sparkled.

She studied his face with anticipation until he finally relented. "Maybe." A last, quick embrace and Vanessa Fowler-Richardson turned and headed down the walkway. She could feel Derek's eyes on her. He couldn't see her face, but she was beaming.

"I got you a mocha caramel latte, right?" Derek told Penelope when she got into the car. She was dressed in a bright amber dress with a black sweater. Her beads and earrings matched her dress, and her long, blond hair was partially pulled on top of her head and secured with a large black bow. Ringlets of curls fell around her face. In her distinctive style, she looked very nice. She put the small cooler that contained their lunch on the back seat, and leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek.

She tested her drink. "Oh, that is so much better than the crummy office coffee."

"That's not coffee." Derek teased, sipping his basic coffee, enhanced with only a splash of creamer. "It is some kind of gooey, creamy, dessert coffee. But, I'm glad you like it." He was happy to see the transformation in her. "You must be feeling better today."

"Definitely." She said, taking a long slurp of her latte. "And I've decided to give up drinking."

Derek laughed. "Yeah, I've taken that pledge a few times myself."

xxxxx

When it got to be after two o'clock, Penelope knew Derek wasn't coming. She had tried to sound nonchalant when she invited him to eat with her, but in truth, she has gone to some trouble to pack a nice lunch. After last night, she had wanted to do something redeem herself but, apparently, he'd forgotten her, and after he was so nice to her this morning, too. Okay, she promised herself she wasn't going to get upset over him any more, and she sure wasn't going to call up to his office. Penelope Garcia doesn't grovel to any man. They had to exchange cars tonight, and she would see him when they drove home. He would see her put the cooler in the car, and he would realize he had stood her up, and maybe he would feel guilty. And, he damned well should!

She was leaned over to get a sandwich and a bottle of water out of the cooler, when Derek said behind her. "I'm sorry I'm late, Pen." She leapt about a foot.

"Girl, are your nerves bad? What's going on with you?" He asked, innocently, remembering that she had jumped the last time he greeted her.

"I didn't hear you," she said, suddenly feeling badly that she had thought the worst of him. She reached down for the cooler and began to take things out. "I have all kinds of…"

Derek pulled up a chair beside her, and sat down. "Whatever you brought will be fine. I only have a few minutes. I have a stack of work on my desk to catch up on."

While they ate, they talked mostly about the cases he'd been reviewing all morning, and he left her a list of things he wanted her to research for him. He gave her a fast kiss and thanked her for lunch. "Delicious, Babe. You outdid yourself." He was out the door.

Damn, damn, damn! She wanted to know about Vanessa. Frustrated, she packed up the leftovers and started to research rape convictions in Georgia in the past twelve months for one of his cases.

xxxxx

Morgan lay across the sofa in his den, watching the ten o'clock news. His head rested on a throw pillow on Penelope's lap. It felt good to be home. He'd banged through the work that had accumulated on his desk in less than a day, and in fact, was able to get out of the office before six. He invited Penelope to stay at his house for dinner.

"But you can't cook." She blurted in response to his invitation. "Well, not unless it comes in a box and goes in the microwave." She was on I-95, navigating the rush hour traffic on her way to drop him off when he asked.

"Penelope!" He feigned a wounded tone and then laughed. "Actually, I was going to let Chef Hong do the cooking. I thought we could order Chinese."

Now, he and Garcia listened quietly while a reporter updated the first case he had worked on this morning. Based on Derek's profile, police in Maryland were looking for a white male, 30-40, with knowledge of anatomy, possibly someone in the medical field. Derek surmised that the man would be single but with a series of troubled, volatile relationships with women. He said police should concentrate on men with a history of domestic violence. He said, too, to look for someone who recently went through a messy break up or divorce, which would have been the "stressor" that started his murderous spree. Derek faxed the profile to the State Police in Annapolis. The unsub had been killing approximately once a week for the past month. With four days since his last kill, time was running out. Derek hoped that by getting the profile out quickly, they would apprehend the man before he took victim number five. Witnesses had spotted a black Ford Expedition at two of the crime scenes. With a vehicle description and some luck…

As he watched, Derek unconsciously fingered the large quartz ring Garcia wore on the hand that rested on his chest. With her unencumbered hand, she reached across him to take another chocolate from the box on the end table. The gesture caught his attention and he asked. "You like them. Don't you?" He was glad that the gift he'd brought her from Chicago pleased her. There was a small chocolate shop in the hotel where he and Vanessa had stayed. You could smell the tantalizing aroma of cocoa as soon as you entered the lobby. He had wanted to bring something back for Penelope, and he decided on candy after Vanessa talked about Taurus girls loving chocolate.

"Chocolates? You know they're my weakness." She replied, noisily sucking the insides out of a chocolate covered cherry, and licking the goo from her fingers.

They were so different, Penelope and Vanessa. Vanessa always had an air of elegance about her. Penelope would never have her grace, but she possessed an endearing naturalness that made everyone comfortable with her.

As the weather report for the DC area began on the TV, Derek took Garcia's hand and sat up. He knew she wanted to know what happened with Vanessa, but he'd postponed talking about it as long as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt his Penelope. He would need to choose his words carefully, but he owed her an explanation.

"Baby, we need to talk."


	21. Chapter 21

REUNION

Chapter 21

Vanessa closed the book that her daughter had fallen asleep reading and placed it on the nightstand. She kissed her softly on the forehead and switched off the lamp, smiling slightly, as she looked at her child in the dim light from the hallway. Her sweet Kelly was the best thing to have come from her marriage to Andrew Richardson. With her long, sandy hair and azure eyes, she was a stunning beauty, just like her comely mother. When their little family would go out together, Drew's friends would often compliment him on the good-looking ladies in his life, and he would beam with pride. He always considered himself a lucky man to have married Vanessa, and felt it was a short-coming on his part that he could never completely capture her heart.

Drew was a good man and she had loved him in her way, but marrying him simply seemed like a better idea than having to return to her father's house after college. All the years they were married, Vanessa went through the motions of being a faithful, dutiful spouse, and she was kind to him, but she could never feel for Drew what she once had for Morgan. Most observers would have thought that she was the perfect wife, not realizing that she was merely an adept actress playing a role. Drew knew, however, and felt the distance between them. He couldn't have Vanessa's love, but Kelly was a part of Vanessa, and she was the apple of his eye.

It was Kelly who found her father, one Sunday afternoon, slumped over his desk from a fatal heart attack. She had gone out to his home office to tell him the special dinner she and Vanessa had made for his birthday was ready for serving.

Drew's death at forty-one was a shock to everyone. He was a seemingly fit man who took reasonable care of himself. Doctors later said he died of an undetected congenital problem, possibly aggravated by the stress of his business. Thankfully, Kelly was adjusting well to the trauma of losing her father, comforted by beliefs she'd been learned from her mother. "His spirit is always with you." Vanessa reassured her. "Departed loved ones let you know they're around you. You only have to watch for the signs. And Honey, when it is our time to cross-over, we'll all be together again."

Vanessa went downstairs to make a cup of tea, which was a nightly ritual. She found it helped her to relax and fall asleep. Tonight she selected apple cinnamon from the box of assorted tea bags. She stirred in a half a spoon of sugar, and took the delicate china cup to the dining table to drink while she made her journal entry. Taking the small notebook and a pen from the concealed drawer at the head of the table, she began to write.

It was a longer entry tonight, reflecting on her day at Richardson's Accounting Services, the business she and Drew built together. She wrote about some of the people she'd encountered at the office. She scribed a message to Drew, and then, she began to write her messages to God. She thanked Him for the blessings in her life, and she wrote about her feelings for Derek. She concluded her comments with the phrase that would become her mantra. "God, if it be your will, bring my Derek back to me."

xxxxx

Morgan held Penelope's hand as he told his story, as if his touch could ease any pain his words might cause her. He recounted how he and Vanessa met at the reunion and "Pen, it was as though she was trying to recreate the date we never had. She even wore the same color gown as she'd bought for prom night." He told her about him and Vanessa going out for a long drive on Saturday, visiting sites in the old neighborhood, and how they walked along Lake Michigan. "Mostly, we talked. We talked about old times and we caught up on each other's lives, how we've evolved over the years. Vanessa has become very, uh, I guess the word is 'spiritual.' She has a lot of beliefs that are kind of unorthodox."

"Such as…" Penelope asked, flatly, digesting what he'd been telling her.

"She believes in reincarnation, astrology, psychic stuff…" He chuckled. "Hey, she read my aura and offered to do my horoscope."

Wonderful Vanessa is just a plethora of talent, she thought, sourly, to herself but replied. "Why didn't you let her do it?"

"I think knowing the future might be a bit unsettling. Besides, Babe," he shrugged, "I'm not sure what I believe about any of it."

Garcia didn't say anything. She held some new age beliefs, too, but she didn't often discuss them since many people were closed to such ideas. Anyhow, right now she was more interested in the nitty-gritty of what happened over the weekend.

He continued. "We had breakfast together on Sunday morning and I took her to the airport. End of story."

Right, Derek, Penelope thought, aggravated. Let's get to the point. "Did you sleep with her?" She asked, looking directly into his eyes.

"We had separate rooms, two floors apart." Not exactly a lie, he reasoned, hoping she would accept the statement and drop the subject.

She pulled her hand away from him and reached for a chocolate. Funny how, whenever she was stressed, food seemed to numb her anxiety. "Are you going to see her again?" She asked, biting into a vanilla butter crème.

"I'm not planning on it." This time he looked at the floor, and she noticed a slight touch of uncertainty in his voice.

"Uh-huh." She replied, flatly. Two evasive answers to questions that should have been "no and no." She figured she might as well ask 'the big one.' She licked the crème from her finger and asked. "How do you feel about her?"

He took her hand again. "Pen," he said, groping for the right words. He knew he hadn't fooled her with his vague answers, and he knew she would see through a lie. He bit his lip, wishing he didn't have to answer. "I love her." He admitted, honestly.

Hearing the words she dreaded the most, Garcia tried to pull away from his grasp, but he held firmly. "Penelope, please!" He pleaded.

"I want to go home." She said, bursting into tears and attempting to get up from the couch. He pulled her back down. "Let go of me." She struggled to withdraw her hand. When he didn't ease his grip, she screeched, "DAMN IT, DEREK, LET ME GO!"

"No," he said, still holding onto her. "Please, Baby Girl. Hear me out."

With her free hand she slapped him, hard, across the face. Startled, he released her hand and she quickly was on her feet and heading for the front door. Three seconds later, he was beside her, slamming shut the door that she had partially opened. "Penelope, calm down. You can't drive anywhere like this."

She tried to open the front door again, but Derek held her by the wrists. He turned her to face him and shook her, slightly. "Penelope, stop!" In exasperation, he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, and she collapsed into deep, gasping sobs against his chest. After a couple of minutes, she calmed enough that he could lead her back to the sofa. He got a paper towel from the kitchen and handed it to her. "I'm sorry. I don't have tissues." With a heavy sigh, he sat down again on the couch beside her. Damn, he was getting weary of dealing with tearful women, something he didn't do very well. The emotional exhaustion was evident in his voice when he pleaded. "Baby, please…talk with me."

He looked and sounded so deflated that Penelope saw past her own misery, and began to appreciate his. Her handprint showed clearly across his cheek, and she felt bad for having hit him. She had encouraged him to go to Chicago to see Vanessa, and now she was giving him grief over it. She knew there was a chance she could lose him, in spite of all that darned "true love is letting go" crap she was flowing with at the time she told him to go. At least she owed him the courtesy of hearing what he had to say.

She wiped her tears and blew her nose. "Okay, what?" She asked, flatly.

Gently and meeting her eyes, he asked her. "Baby Girl, do you think I care less for you because I love her?"

xxxxx

Derek Morgan began building his emotional barrier at a young age. It started with the painful bigotry he faced as a biracial child growing up in a black and white world. His wall grew thicker after his father's murder. Perceiving his grief as weakness, he cried his tears alone, hiding his anger and outrage, and all the while struggling to become the man of his family. When he was victimized by a sexual predator, he sealed his fortress with shame and guilt, and isolated himself even from God, whom he felt had abandoned him.

On a sunny September morning in the hallway of Putnam High, whatever Vanessa Fowler saw in his eyes made her reach out to him. She saw past his secrets and his wounds, and she fell in love with him, innocently and unconditionally. Her devotion allowed him to accept himself, and it changed him.

"Penelope, do you remember when you got shot?" Derek asked, now that she had calmed down and they were able to talk. "You said that you believed everything happens for a reason, even something so terrible. What did you mean?"

"Well, I guess you could say getting shot made me appreciate life. I started to notice sunrises and sunsets. It brought me closer to God. I learned what wonderful friends I have. I mean, I never knew I had so much love around me." She looked down, shyly. "It was the first time you ever said you loved me," and she smiled thinking of it. "It brought Kevin into my life. A lot of good things came out of what happened. I think it changed me for the better."

Derek was holding her hand again. It was not to comfort her now, but to steady him. Exposing his deepest feelings was not easy, but he was going to try. Awkwardly, he began. "I was pretty fucked up when I was a teen…After my dad died and…some other shit happened…"

The first person Morgan had ever confessed to about his sexual abuse was James Barfield on the night at the center when he went to confront Carl Buford. Gideon and Hotch, Gordinski and Dennison, all knew because they had overheard the confrontation, but Morgan never discussed it. Vanessa knew because she'd put the pieces together. Tonight he told Penelope. With all the awful details he had never spoken about to anyone, he poured out his heart. "I'd had a hard time adjusting to my father's death, and the abuse…when it started…God, I was so ashamed, Pen. I hated myself…even after it stopped, I still, uh…"

Even at this moment of confession, he couldn't bring himself to admit he'd doubted his own sexuality. "What kept me going was that I felt like I owed it to my father to…I thought it was my duty to…take care of my mother."

He was looking down at the floor and Garcia noticed how hard he was gripping her hand. It almost hurt, but she didn't want to interrupt him for fear he would stop his narration.

"Vanessa and I talked a lot over the weekend about things that happen for a reason. Pen, can you understand? She came into my life when I needed…someone."

"Did she know?" Penelope asked very gently, "about the abuse, I mean?"

"Not specifically, but she wouldn't have cared. That's what made the difference. The prettiest girl in school saw something in me. She fell in love with me…fucked up Derek Morgan. She could have had anybody…a lot of guys better than me, but flaws and all, she loved me."

It bothered Garcia a little to hear how damned desirable he thought Vanessa was, but she understood his point. And then she remembered what happened between them. "But, she hurt you."

"No." He shook his head. "No, she didn't. It wasn't her. It was her dad. He didn't want his daughter dating a black guy. Vanessa and I talked it all out, Pen. It wasn't her fault."

This conversation was hard for him, and he asked Garcia. "Do you want something to drink?" She shook her head 'no' as he proceeded into the kitchen. He mixed a stiff vodka and cranberry juice, took a long drink, and refilled it. He didn't want to drink so as much as steady his nerves. Even talking to Penelope about his past conjured up the old feelings of guilt and shame.

He continued when he sat down. "Even Vanessa's dad…If you believe that everything happens for a reason, I have to put that in its place. He was a catalyst. With her dad acting like a dick to me that night, it made me want to prove myself. It made me determined to succeed in the white man's world, and make assholes like him eat their words."

It hurt her heart to think that Derek had been treated badly, by anyone…ever. She could see he was upset by their talk, and she reached out and brushed his cheek with her hand. God, she was sorry she'd hit him. She realized how wrong she was to have reacted the way she did. Reluctantly, she asked him. "What does Vanessa think was the reason you were in her life."

"She thinks I was meant to show her that all men aren't like her father." He was almost embarrassed to say it. "She says I showed her that men could be sensitive." He took a drink and concluded. "Her dad was a very hard, controlling man."

Penelope didn't know if she had lost Derek or not. He'd admitted to loving Vanessa, but he was with her, baring his soul. She reached for a chocolate before asking, nervously. "Do you think I have a purpose in your life?"


	22. Chapter 22

REUNION

Chapter 22/Conclusion

Morgan helped Penelope put the top down on the old convertible. "Are you sure you want to do this? It's kind of chilly." He asked, concerned.

"Yes," she laughed, glancing at the sky. "It's an awesome night. I want to enjoy it."

"O-kay." He conceded. He locked down the roof and turned to give her a long embrace. "Good-night, Baby Girl. Drive, carefully."

Derek watched as Penelope got in and started the engine. He waited in the driveway until she turned off his street. "Silly girl." He thought, affectionately, shaking his head as he went back inside.

It was nearly two a.m. It would be awfully late by the time she got to bed tonight, not that it mattered. Garcia was so exhilarated by her conversation with Derek that she knew she would never be able to sleep anyway.

The air was crisp, and the sliver of moon seemed to be smiling in the sky. "Fantastic," she thought to herself…this moment…this night…and Derek Morgan. Definitely one of the best nights of her life, she decided, turning on the radio. The oldies station was playing a 70's song by The Hollies. "All I need is the air that I breathe, and to love you…" Penelope sang along. She had a surprisingly good singing voice, something even most of her friends didn't know. As late as it was, she drove just under the speed limit, in no hurry to get home.

Earlier, when she'd asked Derek if she had a purpose in his life, he was incredulous. "My God, Penelope! Do you have to ask? Don't you know what you mean to me?"

Staring down at the carpet, she shook her head 'no.' Yeah, she thought. There was that "God given solace" remark he made on the night of the explosion, but he was pretty stressed out at the time. And, of course, that was before he reconnected with Vanessa.

"Look at me, Penelope," he said, emphatically. He hoped she would finally grasp what he was going to tell her. "Baby Girl, you're my sanity. You bring laughter into my life. You remind me that there's beauty in the world, even when I'm sick to my stomach from dealing with the horrors. God damn, without you…" He paused, reaching for the right words. "Without you, I'd be like Gideon, wandering around the Southwest somewhere, trying to find myself. Or Elle…or fuckin' Hotch. They snapped…lost their damned minds, the both of them. If you ask me, Hotch is still walking a damned thin line. Elle's probably drinking herself to death. But me…hey, I'm okay." He took her in his arms, and held her so close to him that she could feel his heart beating. "You're my strength. That's what you are to me, Baby Girl. I can't even imagine my life without you."

"But you said you loved Vanessa."

"I do love Vanessa. She had a huge impact on my life. That doesn't mean I don't love you." He gave an exasperated sigh. "Babe, you get yourself hung up thinking it has to be either-or, and then you start letting your damned insecurities get in the way, thinking that you're not as good, or that you don't measure up."

With an uncomfortable knot in her stomach, she admitted. "Yes." She looked up at him, sheepishly. "You're profiling me."

"Yes. I am." He grinned. "I love you, Penelope Garcia, just the way you are. I wouldn't want to change one damned thing about you."

"What about Vanessa?"

"What about her? I told you last night. She went back to her world, and I've come home to mine."

As she turned onto her off exit from the freeway, Garcia was still singing.

xxxxx

David Rossi took another sip of cognac. He studied Morgan, who was yawning for the third time since they'd finished dinner. "Rough day?" He asked, a tad sarcastically, knowing damned well it wasn't. Their Tuesday had actually been a pretty easy workday.

"Sorry."

"Did you have a late night?" Dave lit the tip of his cigar and took a long puff. O'Reilly's didn't allow smoking, but they looked the other way for Rossi, who was a frequent customer and a friend of the pub owner. "Damn, that's good." He offered Morgan a cigar taken from his coat pocket. "I have another."

"No, thanks." Morgan answered with a slight wave of the hand, and then he yawned again.

"I'm beginning to think I'm lousy company." Rossi remarked, but looking at Morgan, he could see that something was bothering him. He'd been unusually quiet during their meal. Rossi changed his tone. "What's wrong, Derek?" He took another puff of his cigar and exhaled, slowly, savoring the bouquet of the tobacco.

Morgan just rolled his eyes and gave him half a laugh. "I'm still recovering from my vacation."

"I thought you went home to see family? Didn't it go well?"

"Eh?" Morgan shrugged, off-handedly. He gave his friend a summery of his vacation, and concluded with "and I went to my class reunion. Met up with my old high school sweetheart."

Rossi flashed his familiar, lop-sided smirk. "Oh, that's what causing you to lose sleep."

"I'm not having trouble sleeping. I got to bed late." He played with his spoon and looked down when he said. "I had Garcia over to my house for dinner last night. She didn't take too well to me spending a weekend with my ex. We were talking until about two."

"Your reunion went that well, huh?" Rossi laughed. "So, I'm gathering there's still a little spark left with the old flame, and you had some explaining to do to the lovely Penelope."

"Dave, I've spent twenty years love-hating Vanessa. I was crazy about her back in high school. I even thought we might have a future together. Then she dumped my black ass… shit, on the night of our senior prom…of all nights. I thought it was because she'd decided I wasn't good enough for her."

"And…?"

"And…come to find out, it wasn't her. Her father broke us up because he didn't want her dating a black guy."

"She's Caucasian, I gather?" Dave knew he could never understand racism from Morgan's perspective. Color never mattered much to him, but he'd investigated enough hate crimes and racially motivated murders over the years to know how ugly some people could get.

Derek got out his cell phone and showed him the photos from the reunion. He'd been meaning to download them to his computer. He didn't want Penelope to accidentally stumble across them. Suddenly, he had an awful twinge of guilt for wanting to keep the pictures, and he felt even guiltier for feeling the need to hide them.

"Wow! Good-looking girl!" Dave remarked with appreciation, looking slowly through the photos while he puffed his stogie. "Is she single?"

"She's a widow. Her husband died several months ago. Crapped out from a heart attack. Vanessa said he was a workaholic." Morgan took the phone back from his friend and put it in his pocket. "She has a teenage daughter. I think the kid's sixteen. They're fairly affluent people. She and her husband had a business. 'Nessa's running it now."

"Okay…so you and this Vanessa are both single. Now, that could open the door to all kinds of possibilities." He flicked his ashes into a heavy, ceramic ashtray, and leaned back in his seat. "No wonder you and Garcia had a lot to talk about. How did you leave things?"

"Dave, the last thing I ever want to do is hurt Garcia." He paused before he added. "I'm not going to see Vanessa again."

Rossi snuffed out his cigar and finished his drink. Rubbing the stubble on his chin as he formulated his response, he said. "Morgan, there've been a hell of a lot of women in my life. Hell, I even married three of them. At the time, I sincerely believed I loved every one of them. The job had a lot to do with why things didn't work out. You know how it is. We're away so damn much. We get caught up in the cases. It's hard not to be affected, and we can't really talk about it. It's not like you can go home, sit down over dinner and say 'honey, let me tell you about this headless corpse I saw today.' We close ourselves off emotionally." He gave a small shrug. "Maybe it's the only way we can function."

He gestured to the waiter. The server added coffee to Derek's cup and brought Rossi another glass of cognac. "The thing about Garcia…She works with us. She understands how it is. It's amazing the way she manages to keep her sense of humor." He swirled his cognac in the tall, stemmed glass and took a drink. "Morgan, she's a great girl. You could do worse."

"Why do I feel like there's a 'but' you're leaving out?"

Rossi flashed another crooked grin, and his tone turned wistful. "When I was twelve years old, I met this girl…back in the old home town, back in Boston. She was the cutest thing…petite…big, brown eyes…really 'blessed' for her age, if you get my gist" He cupped his hands in front of his chest to emphasis his point. "I fell for her the first time I laid eyes on her. We went together all through school. I went to my prom with her. I should have married her, but I was young. I wasn't ready to settle down. I thought I wanted adventure." He sneered. "I went off and joined the Marines, thinking she'd be there when I got back. Well, shit happens. She wasn't."

Rossi had a melancholy look when he confessed. "Morgan, I've loved that woman all of my life. She might have been the reason my marriages didn't work out. I should never have let her go. I guess we were soul mates or something."

Over the years Rossi and Morgan had been working together, they had become close friends, but Morgan had never heard him talk like this. "Soul mates?" Derek repeated. "Vanessa talked about soul mates. Do you believe that stuff?"

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head. "Yeah, I do."

xxxxx

Morgan stood at the kitchen table and leafed quickly through his mail. He pulled out a couple of bills that needed to be paid, and took them into his office. Sitting down at his desk, he turned on the computer and logged into his bank account. After he tended to business, he downloaded the photos from the reunion. He titled the file "Misc-210." The number attached to the file represented Vanessa's birthday, the tenth of February. He then erased the photos on his phone.

He called Sarah, and was happy to hear that Desiree had changed her home and cell phone numbers. Good, she wouldn't be hearing from that fool, Curtis, again. He programmed the numbers into his phone, and then went upstairs to shower. The phone rang just as he was coming out of the bathroom.

"Bonsoir, mon amour! What are you doing tonight?" Garcia said in a seductive voice.

"Uh, I'm naked and wet." He said, holding the phone with one hand and drying off with the other.

"Oooh…let me just ponder that thought for a minute." She paused, and then giggled as she asked. "I suppose sending me a photo is out of the question."

"Behave, Naughty Girl. Sending naked photos on my cell phone is absolutely out of the question."

She giggled again. "Well, it was worth a try. I'll have to use my imagination." Another pause and "do you need me to let you go?"

"Nah, I'm good." He put his towel under him on the bed and sat down. He wasn't so sleepy now, and it was good to hear her voice.

Penelope told him that they had a suspect in custody in Maryland in the case he'd profiled yesterday. "I saw it on the news a little bit ago. He's a nurse. You said medical field. It looks like you called it, Sweetie."

After several minutes, their talk was interrupted when Penelope received a text. "Hey, I just got a message from Hotch. He says I need have a bag ready. You guys might be flying out to San Francisco tomorrow, and if you do, he wants me to go."

"Did he say what case?" God damn, he didn't want to leave again. He'd barely been home two days.

"No, he didn't…I'd better go. I need to see what I have to pack. I'll see you in the morning…Good-night, Snuggly Bear. Love you."

"Back at you, Baby Girl. 'Night."

Derek pulled on pajama pants and checked out his own ready bag. While he was packing, he came across the letter that Vanessa had given him two days earlier. He sat down on the foot of the bed and began to read.

It was long, just as she said, written on loose leaf paper in an ornate, feminine hand. She began by telling him her impressions on the morning they met. For ten pages, Vanessa recounted their time together, her feelings about him, and her hopes for the future. Some of the parts made him laugh, while others touched him with her sincerity. She concluded with…"I've asked myself if I could awaken every morning for the rest of my life and see you beside me. Yes, yes, a resounding yes! Nothing would make me happier than to have you in my life forever. Could you say the same about me? I hope when we're able to talk, we can plan our future. I'll be eighteen soon. My father can't keep us apart for long…Love you always, Vanessa."

Enclosed on a separate sheet of paper was a poem. ~~~

SOUL MATES by Vanessa Fowler

You have been mine before;

I remember the taste of your tender kisses,

The warmth of your welcoming embrace,

A smile that lit up my lonely world;

That playful way you stirred my passion,

Feeling lost forever, lying in your arms,

Somewhere long ago.

You're the one I want to be with;

I love you with all that I am.

You are the precious air I breathe,

A character in every dream I cherish,

That missing part of me that I see,

Looking deeply into your eyes.

He read the poem over twice, entranced by the beauty of her words and the meaning. Even at seventeen, she was making references to past lives. What had she said about people from other lifetimes? "You see something in their eyes. You have a sense of familiarity, as though you have always known them." It was the way he felt when he first met Garcia, and when he met Vanessa. There was something about them. Even seeing Vanessa again after twenty years, he felt as if no time had passed between them. Did they really have a connection from other lifetimes?

Shit! He didn't have time to think about this. He had to get his head out of the clouds. All this metaphysical-new age stuff! A new case was starting tomorrow. He needed to get some rest. He put the letter in the drawer of his night stand, and got into bed. He pulled out the stem of his alarm clock and turned out the light.

Morgan easily drifted off to sleep and dreamed of the women he loved.

xxxxxx

~THE END~

***Author's note*** I didn't not write the poem, SOUL MATES. It was written by my friend and fellow writer, S. Sorbello.


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